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THE 

SACRED POEMS AND PRIVATE 
EJACULATIONS OF HENRY 

VAUGHAN 

WITH A MEMOIR BY THE 

REV. H. F. LYTE 






Gift. 

■ncr t,. Shoemaker 
7 8 *06 






Contents. 

Page 

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF HENRY VaUGHAN . . ix 

The Author's Preface li 

Dedication lxv 

Author's (de se) Emblema lxxi 

SlLEX SdNTILLANS, OR SACRED POEMS. PART I. 

Regeneration 3 

Death. A Dialogue 6 

Refurredtion and Immortality 8 

Day of Judgement 10 

Religion 12 

The Search 14 

Ifaac's Marriage 18 

The Brittifli Church 20 

The Lampe . . . 21 

Man's Fall, and Recovery ...... 22 

The Showre 24. 

Diffraction 25 

The Purfuite ....—,.... 26 

Mount of Olives 27 

The Incarnation, and Parlion 28 

The Call 29 

" Thou that know'ft for whom I mourne," . . 30 

Vanity of Spirit 32 

The Retreate 33 

" Come, come ! what doe I here ? " . . . . 34 

Midnight 35 

Content 37 

" Joy of my life while left me here !" . . . 38 

The Storm 39 

The Morning-watch 40 

The Evening- watch 41 

" Silence and ftealth of dayes ! 'tis now," ... 42 

Church-Service 43 

Buriall 44 

Chearfulnefs 46 

" Sure there's a tye of Bodyes ! and as they" . . 47 

Peace 48 



vi CONTENTS. 

Silex Scintillans. Page 

The Paffion 48 

Rom. Cap. 8, ver. 19 50 

The Relapfe 52 

TheRefolve 53 

The Match 54 

Rules -and LefTons 55 

Corruption. . 61 

H. Scriptures 62 

Unprofitablenefs 63 

Chrift's Nativity * 63 

The Check 65 

Diforder and Frailty 67 

Idle Verfe . . 69 

Son-dayes . 70 

Repentance 71 

The Burial of an Infant 74 

Faith •.... 75 

The Dawning . 76 

Admirlion . . . . ... . . . 78 

Praife 79 

Drefling 81 

Eafter-day 83 

Eafter Hymn 83 

The Holy Communion 84 . 

Pfalm 121 86 

Affliction 87 

TheTempeft 88 

Retirement 90 

Love, and Difcipline 92 

The Pilgrimage 93 

The Law, and the Gofpel 94 

The World 96 

The Mutinie 98 

The Conftellation . . . ... . . 100 

The Shepheards 102 

Mifery 104 

The Sap ... 107 

Mount of Olives 109 

Man no 

a I Walkt the other day, to fpend my hour," . . in 

fing 114 



Part II. 

Afcenlion-day . ... 117 

Afcenfion-Hymn 119 

"They are all gone into the world of light!" . . 120 

White Sunday . . 122 



CONTENTS. 



VII 



SlLEX SCINTILLANS. 

The Proffer 
Cock-Crowing 
The Starre . 
The Palm-tree 

Joy • • 

The Favour 

The Garland 

Love-lick . 

Trinity-Sunday 

Pfalme 104 

The Bird . 

The Timber 

The Jews . 

Begging . 

Palm-Sunday 

Jefus weeping 

The Daughter of Herodias 

Jefus weeping 

Providence 

The Knot . 

The Ornament 

St. Mary Magdalen 

The Rain-bow 

The Seed growing fecretly 

u As time one day by me did pafs 

" Fair and yong light ! my guide t( 

The Stone . 

The dwelling-place 

The Men of War 

The Afs . . 

The hidden Treafure 

Childe-hood 

The Night . 

Abel's blood 

Righteoufnefs 

Anguifh . 

Tears . 

Jacob's Pillow, and Pillar 

The Agreement 

The day of Judgment 

Pfalm 65 . 

The Throne 
Death 

The Feaft . 
The Obfequies 
The Water-fall 



holy 



Page 

124 
126 
128 
129 
130 
131 
132 
133 
134 
J 35 
138 
139 
142 

H3 

144 

146 

H7 

148 
150 
152 

J 53 
154 
156 
158 

160 
161 
163 
165 
166 
168 
170 
171 
173 
J 75 
176 
178 
179 
180 
182 
184 
186 
187 
188 
189 
192 
'93 



CONTENTS. 



SlLEX SciNTILLANS. 

Quicknefs . 
The Wreath . 
The Queer 
The Book . 
To the Holy Bible 
L'Envoy 

Part III. Thalia Rediviva. 
Ejaculations. 
To his Books . 
Looking back . 
The Shower 

Difcipline .... 
The Ecclipfe . 
Affliaion .... 
Retirement . . 
The Revival 
The Day fpring 
The Recovery . 
The Nativity . 
The true Chriftmas . 
The Requeft . 
The World . . . 
The Bee ... 
To Chriftian Religion 
Daphnis .... 



Pious Thoughts and 



Page 

*95 
r 95 

196 

*97 
198 
199 



205 
206 
207 
207 
208 
208 
209 
210 
210 
212 
213 
214 
215 
216 
219 
223 
224 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 

HENRT VAUGHAN, 
SILURIST. 

r 




Biographical Sketch of 
Henry Vaughan, 

>He principal colle&ions of the 
Britifh poets were made at a 
time when the tafte for French 
corre&nefs was in the afcendant 
among us. This may in fome meafure 
account for the fad that fo many fmooth 
Rhymfters, fuch as Pomfret, Yalden, 
Lanfdown, &c, have been placed on that 
auguft lift, while Lord Brooke, the Fletch- 
ers, Withers, Herrick, Habington, and 
Quarles, have been excluded from it ; and 
it is only when fome happy accident brings 
thefe writers and their productions under 
our notice, that we difcover how many of 
the true poets of England have been pufhed 
from their places, to make room for mere 



xii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

pretenders to the title. In fome instances 
it would almoft feem as if thefe writers 
had been ftudioufly run down by thofe, 
who ftole from them firft, and then fought 
to conlign them to obfcurity, in order 
to cover their own plagiarifms. From 
the days of Milton however, down to 
thofe of Burns and Cowper, a very low 
ftandard of poetic excellence prevailed in 
this country , and a trifling offence againft 
good tafte, a flight ruggednefs in ftyle and 
composition, were fufficient to condemn a 
poet of no mean order to oblivion ; as if 
any corredlnefs of tafte or fmoothnefs of 
verfification could atone for the aftual 
dearth of originality. Among thofe who 
have experienced in a remarkable degree 
this unfair treatment is the Poet, a part 
of whofe works we propofe now to repub- 
lifh. He is entirely unnoticed in the 
great colle&ions of Bell, Anderfon, and 
Chalmers ; and even Campbell, in his 
fpecimens of the Britifli poets, fpeaks in 
the moft flighting manner of his talents 
and productions. All this however is 
trifling in comparifon with the treatment 
he receives at the hand of his own County 



OF HENRT VAUGHAN. xiii 

Hiftorian, Jones. This writer adually 
doubts whether Henry Vaughan ever pro- 
duced any poetry whatever. He tells us 
that two little pieces of his, the Olor Ifca- 
nus, and the Charnel Houfe, were pub- 
lished by Thomas Vaughan, in the name 
of his brother Henry ; but that they were 
generally believed to be Thomas Vaughan's 
own compositions. So ignorantly and 
flippantly could the Hiftorian of Breck- 
nockfhire write refpe&ing one of its great- 
eft literary ornaments, whofe works, now 
before us, amount to feven printed volumes. 
How far this depreciation was deferved, 
the poems preferved in the following pages 
will beft teftify ; but we are much de- 
ceived if many of them do not commend 
themfelves to all readers of true poetic 
tafte, as among the moft ftriking compo- 
sitions of their age. In this cafe a defire 
will naturally arife to know fomething re- 
fpe&ing the Author, and this curiofity the 
Editor here endeavours to gratify : and 
after carefully looking through the afore- 
faid volumes, and making what enquiries 
he could both at Oxford and in the neigh- 
bourhood where Vaughan lived and died, 



xiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

he offers in the following biographical 
fketch the refults of his refearches. It 
may be as well here further to obferve that 
Henry Vaughan the poet, muft not be con- 
founded with another of the fame name, 
college, and neighbourhood, who wrote 
two little theological pieces of fome merit. 
Though poffeffing fo many features in 
common they were, as the records of Jefus 
College fhow, totally different perfons. 

Henry Vaughan, ftyled by his contem- 
poraries cc the Silurift," from his having 
been born among the Silures, or people of 
South Wales, was defcended from one of 
the moft ancient and refpedtable families 
of the Principality, deducing its pedigree 
from the ancient kings of that country. 
Two of his anceftors, Sir Roger Vaughan 
and Sir David Gam, loft their lives at the 
battle of Agincourt. His great grand- 
mother was Lady Frances Somerfet, 
daughter of Thomas Somerfet, third fon 
of Henry Earl of Worcefter, and the 
poffeflions of the Vaughan family were 
very extenfive both in Brecknockfhire and 
in other parts of Wales. The chief family 
residence was the caftle of Tretower, in 



OF HENRT VAVGHAN. xv 

the parifh of Cwmdu, and, when it was 
difmantled, Skethrock, or Scethrog, in the 
fame neighbourhood. At this latter place 
Shakefpeare is faid to have paid a vifit to 
one of the family, and his Commentator 
Malone thinks that it was perhaps there 
that he picked up the word cc Puck/' re- 
fpedting the origin of which fome of his 
critics have been much puzzled. Pooky 
in Welfh fignifies a goblin, and near Sceth- 
rog exifts a valley, Cwm- Pooky, the 
goblin's vale, which belonged to the 
Vaughans, and which a tradition, ftill ex- 
tant, ftates to have been a favorite refort 
of fome diftinguiflied " Bard," who had 
once vifited that neighbourhood. The 
grandfather of the poet appears to have 
migrated from Tretower to Newton, in 
the parifh of Llanfaintfread, about five 
miles diftant from the family refidence ; 
and there his fon Henry, in the year 
1 62 1, had iflue Henry and Thomas 
Vaughan, twin brothers, the former of 
them the fubjeft of the prefent memoir. 
Newton, once a comfortable manfion, is 
now a farm-houfe near the Ufk, on the 
road leading from Crickhowel to Brecon, 



xvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

and diftant about five miles from the 
latter place. Henry Vaughan ftyles it 
himfelf, in the date affixed to one of his 
dedications, cc Newton by Ufke, near 
Sketh-rock." The fituation is a very 
beautiful one, well calculated to nurfe 
poetic thought and feeling ; and there is 
abundant evidence in Vaughans works, 
to fhow that it was not unappreciated by 
its poetic occupant. There are fome very 
fweet Latin verfes in one of his early 
volumes addrefled to the Ufk, and the 
following lines occur in one of his Englifh 
apoftrophies to the fame River ; 

" Garlands and fongs and roundelayes, 
Mild dewie nights, and funfhine dayes, 
The turtle's voyce, joy without fear, 
Dwell on thy bofome all the year ! 
To Thee the wind from far mall bring 
The odours of the fcattered fpring, 
And loaden with the rich arreare 
Spend it in fpicie whifpers here." 

At the age of eleven years Henry 
Vaughan and his brother were fent for 
education to the Rev. Matthew Herbert, 
Re6tor of Llangattock, under whofe tui- 
tion they continued during the enfuing fix 



OF HENRT FAUGHAN. xvii 

years. Here they feem to have made 
considerable progrefs in claflical literature, 
and to have imbibed a ftrong affeftion for 
their tutor, as well as a lively fenfe of 
their obligations toward him. They have 
both left behind them elegant and affec- 
tionate tributes in Latin Elegiacs to their 
old preceptor, and the graceful clafficality 
of thefe compositions proves how well 
their praifes were deferved. 

From Llangattock the brothers in due 
time moved on to Oxford, and entered at 
Jefus College in the year 1638. They 
were then between 17 and 18 years of 
age, and well qualified for engaging in 
the ftudies of the Univerfity. They had 
fallen however on times unpropitious to 
literary purfuits. The great rebellion was 
now fermenting, and politics feemed to 
pufh every thing elfe into the back ground. 
The King too by and by moved his Court 
from London to Oxford, where he had 
the fympathy and fupport of almoft all 
the members of the Univerfity. It was 
fcarcely to be expe&ed that two young 
and ardent fpirits, like thofe of the 
Vaughans, would be indifferent to the 



xviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

Royal caufe. They were fprung from a 
family diftinguifhed for its loyalty; and 
Wales throughout the Civil War was al- 
ways favorable to Charles : accordingly 
we find them both zealous royalifts. 
Thomas Vaughan adually bore arms on 
the King's fide, and Henry fufFered ob- 
loquy and imprifonment for his known 
and avowed attachment to his Royal 
mafter. This latter fad appears from a 
poem of his addrefled to his cc learned 
friend, and loyal fellow prifoner, Thomas 
Powell, D.D." Whether he ever adually 
took the field on the King's fide may be 
a matter of doubt. He fpeaks in a poem 
of his, of having been cc torn from the 
fide " of a dear young friend, R. W., in 
the battle of Rowton Heath, near Chefter, 
1645 ; an d there are other paflages in his 
works which feem to intimate that he had 
been engaged in adlual conflict with the 
enemy. However, on the other hand a 
Latin poem of his, written in 1647, ex ~ 
prefsly aflerts that he had then nothing to 
do with open warfare. He confidered, he 
tells us, that there was a voice in a bro- 
ther's blood, which would cry to Heaven 



OF HENRY FAUGHAN, xix 

againft the fhedder of it, and therefore he 
confcientioufly abftained from meeting in 
the field his infatuated Countrymen, 
though not from the advocacy of his 
Sovereign's caufe by every means which 
he deemed legitimate. His brother 
Thomas however had none of thefe 
fcruples ; and as his Hiftory is rather a 
Angular one, it may as well be here pur- 
fued to its clofe. Obtaining ordination 
from Bifhop Mainwaring, he was pre- 
fented by a diftant relation to the living 
of Llanfaintfread, the place of his birth, 
and went to refide there, clofe to his bro- 
ther Henry. The Parliamentary Ecclefi- 
afticalCommiflioners foon afterwards com- 
menced their inquifitorial vifitations, and 
Thomas Vaughan was expelled by them 
from his living, on the ufual charges of 
drunkennefs, fwearing, incontinency, and 
having borne arms for the King, the latter 
probably being, as in many other instances, 
his only real offence. On this event he 
retired to Oxford, and devoted the reft of 
his life to Chemiftry, or rather Alchemy, 
under the aufpices of Sir Robert Murray, 
Secretary of State for Scotland, himfelf a 



xx BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

great admirer of thefe ftudies. While in 
his fervice Thomas Vaughan publifhed 
feveral works in verfe and profe under 
the title of Eugenius Philalethes. The 
names of fome of thefe are very whimfical 
and amufing. There is firft "Anima 
magica abfcondita, or a difcourfe of the 
Univerfal Spirit of Nature, with the 
ftrange abftrufe and miraculous afcent and 
defcent. — London, 1650." cc Anthropo- 
fophia Theomagica, or a difcourfe of the 
Nature of Man, and his ftate after death, 
grounded on his Creator's proto-chemiftry, 
— London, 1650." Cf Magia Adamica, or 
the Antiquity of Magic, and the defcent 
thereof from Adam downward, proved ; 
together with a perfedl and full difcovery 
of the true Coelum terrae, or the Magi- 
cian's Heavenly Chaos, and firft matter of 
all things. — London, 1650." The laft 
that we fhall mention is, " Euphrates, 
or the waters of the Eaft, being a fhort 
difcourfe of that fecret fountain, whofe 
water flows from fire, and carries in it 
the beams of the fun and moon ; Lond., 
1653." In the year 1665, on the Plague 
breaking out in London, the Court of 



OF HENRT FAUGH AN. xxi 

Charles II. removed to Oxford, and 
Thomas Vaughan and his Patron ac- 
companied it. A few days afterwards 
however, he was taken ill, and, retir- 
ing to Albury, in the neighbourhood, he 
died there, Feb. 27th, 1665. Anthony 
Wood fums up his character by faying, 
" He was a great Chymift, a noted lover 
of the fire, an experimental Philofopher, 
a zealous brother of the Roficrucian 
fraternity, an underftander of fome of the 
Oriental languages, and a tolerable good 
Engliih and Latin Poet. He was neither 
Papift nor Sectary, but a true refolute 
Proteftant, in the beft fenfe of the Church 
of England." The two Brothers feem to 
have been always ftfongly attached to 
each other, Thomas had the higheft ad- 
miration of his brother's poetical powers, 
and ufhered in his early works with ftrong 
prefatorial commendations ; and Henry 
pathetically laments his more eccentric 
brother's untimely death, in the verfes 
entitled cc Daphnis," printed at the end of 
this volume. 

It was during this period of Henry 
Vaughan's life that his earlieft verfes were 



xxii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

produced. He was intimate with moft of 
the young literary men of the day, and 
his occafional efFufions appear to have 
been highly prized and long remembered 
among them. He fpeaks with much de- 
light of his occafional vifits to London at 
this time, and of the focial evenings fpent 
there at the Globe Tavern. He mentions 
Randolph as one whom he fpecially de- 
lighted in. He flung his poetic tribute, 
along with fo many others, on Cartwright's 
premature hearfe. Fletcher's plays, pub- 
lished in 1647, came out with commen- 
datory verfes of his prefixed to them. And 
Ben Jonfon, cc great Ben," feems to have 
been an objedt of his peculiar admiration. 
At this period alfo his own firft publica- 
tion was given to the world, a little vo- 
lume of verfes, chiefly amatory, addrefled 
to Amoret, in the light eafy ftyle of the 
day, and clofing with a tranflation — not a 
clofeone — of the 10th fatyre of Juvenal. 
Some of thefe poems exhibit a good deal 
of vigour and freedom in their verfifica- 
tion. The following is a favourable fpe- 
cimen : 



OF HENRT FAUGH AN. xxiii 

€€ But grant fome richer planet at my birth 
Had fpied me out, and meafured fo much earth 
Or gold unto my fhare, I mould have been 
Slave to thefe lower Elements, and feen 
My high-born foul flagge with their drofTe, and lye 
A prifoner to bafe mud and Alchemic 
I fhould perhaps eate orphans, and fucke up 
A dozen diftreft widowes in one cup. * * * 

Thanks then for this deliverance, BleiTed Powers ! 
You that difpenfe man's fortune and his houres ! 
How am I to you all engaged ! that thus 
By fuch ftrange meanes, almofr. miraculous, 
You mould preferve me ! you have gone the way 
To make me rich by taking all away. 
For I, had I been rich, as fure as fate, 
Would have been meddling with the king or ftate, 
Or fomething to undoe me ; and 'tis fit, 
We know, that who hath wealth mould have no wit. 
But above all thanks to that Providence, 
That armed me with a gallant foule and fenfe 
'Gainft all misfortunes, that hath breathed fo much 
Of Heaven into me, that I fcorn the touch 
Of thefe low things, and can with courage dare 
Whatever fate or malice can prepare. 
I envy no man's purfe or mines. I know 
That lofing them I've loll their curfes too." 

The little volume from whence thefe 
lines are taken is entitled, cc Poems, with 
the tenth Satyre of Juvenal Englifhed, by 
Henry Vaughan, Gent. London, 1646. 



xxiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

It became however now neceflary that 
Henry Vaughan fhould turn his attention 
to fome profeflion for a livelihood. What- 
ever patrimony may have defcended to 
him by inheritance, it appears to have 
been inadequate to his fupport. Befides, 
he was a Poet, one of that race of whom 
he playfully fays himfelf, 

" Thou malt not find a rich one. Take each clime, 
And run o'er all the pilgrimage of time, 
Thou'lt meet them poor, and everywhere defcrie 
A threadbare, gold-lefs genealogie." 

That this lot was not indeed a very dif- 
trefling one to him, we may conjecture 
from a paflage already quoted, as well as 
from other fine lines of his, in which, ad- 
drefling Fortune, he fays, 

" I care not for your wondrous hat and purfe ! 
The world's my palace. Fie contemplate there ; 
And make my progrefs into every fphere. 
The chambers of the aire are mine, thofe three 
Well furnifhed flories my pofleffion be. 
I hold them all in Capite, and fland 
Propt by my Fancy there. I fcorn your land, 
It lies fo far below me. Here I fee 
How all the facred liars do circle me." 

Then, after cafting off all the grofler 
parts of nature, he proceeds, 



OF HENRT FAUGHAN. xxv 

c ' Get up, my difentangled foul ! thy fire 

Is now refined, and nothing left to tire 

Or clog thy wings. Now my aufpicious flight 

Hath brought me to the Empyrean light. 

I am a feparate efTence, and can fee 

The emanations of the Deitie. 

And how they pafs the feraphims, and run 

Through every throne and Domination. 

With angels now and fpirits do I dwell ; 

And here it is my nature to do well. 

And fhall I then forfake the ftars and figns, 

To dote upon thy dark and curfed mines ? " 

All this however, though fine in the 
way of poetic fpeculation, would not do 
for every day pradtice. Accordingly 
Henry Vaughan, having no tafte for the 
Church, (indeed there was not much to 
attraft him thither in fuch times) turned 
his attention to medical purfuits, and 
leaving Oxford without graduating there 
he went to London, and in due time be- 
came M. D., and retired to practice at 
Brecknock (now Brecon) the county 
Town, a few miles diftant from his native 
place. He found things greatly changed 
there under the republican regime > and 
not very congenial, it would feem, to his 
own feelings. 

c 



xxvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

" Here's brotherly Ruffs and Beards, and a ftrange 

fight 
Of high monumental Hats, tane at the fight 
Of eighty eight ; while every Burgeffe foots 
The mortal Pavement in eternall boots. " 

We find him accordingly foon migrat- 
ing from thence to his native refidence, 
Newton, where he continued to purfue 
his profeflion, and to employ his leifure 
hours in various literary occupations. 

About this time it was that he prepared 
for the prefs his little volume entitled 
« Olor Ifcanus," the fwan of the Ufk, 
the dedication of which to the Lord Kil- 
dare Digby, bears date December 17, 
1647. This volume however he never 
himfelf publifhed. It appears to have 
been consigned to the hands of his brother, 
when he returned to Oxford on his ejec- 
tion from the living of Llanfaintfread, and 
in 1 6 5 1 > three years afterwards, it was 
printed by him, with an apologetic ad- 
vertifement, and commendatory verfes 
from himfelf and other Oxford friends. 
Thomas Vaughan, in his addrefs to the 
Reader, exprefsly fays, u I have not the 
Author's approbation to the fad," (viz, 



OF HENRT FAUGH AN... xxvii 

of publication) cc but I have the Law on 
my fide/' (as) cf I hold it no man's pre- 
rogative to fire his own houfe." It would 
appear therefore that Henry Vaughan 
wiflied to have destroyed thefe ebullitions 
of his youthful mufe, as he had many 
others of the fame kind, and that they 
were in the end published contrary to his 
defire. Yet there is really nothing objec- 
tionable in the volume. The poems con- 
tained in it are not of a ftri£tly religious 
chara&er ; yet they are full of juft and 
noble fentiments ; and I am not aware of 
a line that any one need have been afliamed 
of. The volume, when complete, has a 
curious frontifpiece, engraved by Robert 
Vaughan (qu. a relation ?) with the Swan 
of the Ufk, very confpicuous in the centre 
of it, and fome Latin verfes, cc ad Pofte- 
ros," before it, giving in enigmatical lan- 
guage, a flight fketch of the Author's life 
and opinions. The matter confifts of 
original poems, many of them addrefled 
to perfons of the Author's acquaintance, 
together with tranflations from Ovid's 
Triftia, Boethius^ and Cafimir, and a brief 



xxviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

fpecimen or two will fuffice to fhow, that 
they are not without their beauties. 
In an Epithalamium occur thefe lines, 

" Frefli as the houres may all your pleafures be, 
And healthfull as Eternitie ! 
Sweet as the flowre's firfl breath, and clofe 
As th' unfeen fpreadings of the Rofe, 
When he unfolds his curtained head, 
And makes his bofome the Sun's bed! 

Of the Lady Elizabeth, daughter of 
James i., he fays, 

" Thou feem'it a rofe-bud born in mow, 

A flowre of purpofe fprung to bow 

To heedlefs tempefts, and the rage 

Of an incenfed ftormie age. 

And yet as Balm-trees gently fpend 

Their tears for thofe that doe them rend, 

Thou didit not murmure nor revile, 

But drank'ft thy wormwood with a fmile." 

In a different ftrain he thus concludes 
an invitation to a friend to Brecknock. 

" Come then ! and while the flow isicle hangs 

At the ftiffe thatch, and Winter's froftie pangs 

Benumme the year, blithe as of old let us 

Mid' noife and war, of peace and mirth difcufTe. 

This portion thou wert born for. Why fhould we 

Vex at the timers ridiculous miferie ? 

An age that thus hath fooled itfelf, and will, 

Spite of thy teeth and mine, perfifl fo Hill. 



OF HENRT FAUGH AN. xxix 

Let's fit then at this fire ; and, while wee ileal 
A revell in the Town, let others feal, 
Purchafe, and cheat, and who can let them pay, 
Till thofe black deeds bring on the darkfome day. 
Innocent lpenders wee ! a better ufe 
Shall wear out our fhort leafe, and leave the obtufe 
Rout to their hulks. They and their bags at bell 
Have cares in earneft. Wee care for a jell \" 

Another poem, the Chriftian Politician, 
thus ends : 

" Come then, rare politicians of the time, 
Brains of fome Handing, Elders in our clime, 
See here the method. A wife folid Hate 
Is quick in acting, friendly in debate, 
Joynt in advice, in refolutions juft* 
Mild in fuccefle, true to the Common trufl. 
It cements ruptures, and by gentle hand 
Allayes the heat and burnings of a land. 
Religion guides it ; and in all the tract 
Defignes fo twill, that Heaven confirms the a&. 
If from thefe lifts you wander, as you fteere, 
Look back, and catechife your actions here* 
Thefe are the marks to which true flatefmen tend, 
And greatnefs here with goodnefs hath one end." 

We can only afford room for one fpe- 
cimen of the translations. 

BOETHIUS, METRUM 4. 

" Whofe calme foule in a fettled ftate 
Kicks under foot the frowns of fate, 



xxx BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

And in his fortunes bad or good 
Keep the fame temper in his bloud, 
Not him the flaming clouds above, 
Nor Etna's fierie tempefts, move. 
No fretting feas from more to fhore, 
Boyling with indignation o'er, 
Nor burning thunderbolt, that can 
A mountain make, can ftirre this man ! " 

At the clofe of this volume are inferted 
four profe tranflations 3 all of them bearing 
more or lefs on the Author's purfuits or 
circumftances. The firft, cc on the benefit 
we may get by our enemies," from Plu- 
tarch ; the fecond, Cf Of the Difeafes of 
the Mind and Bodie/' from the fame; 
another, on the fame fubjedt, from Maxi- 
mus Tyrius ; and laftly, cc the praife and 
happinefTe of the Country Life," from the 
Spanifh of Guevara. All thefe have fepa- 
rate title-pages, and were publifhed in the 
year 165 1. 

* We now however approach a very im- 
portant period of our Poet's life, when a 
change feems to have come over his fpirit, 
which influenced it to the clofe of his 
earthly career. He was at this time vifited 
by a fevere and lingering illnefs, of what 
character exactly is not fpecified. It was 



OF HENRY VAVGHAN. xxxi 

however of a nature to bring him to the 
brink of the grave, and to keep him long 
in a ftate of folitude and fuffering ; and 
while he was in this condition more deep 
and folemn religious views and feelings 
appear to have broken in upon his foul 
than any he had before harboured. The 
high and holy claims of God, the infinite 
importance of eternity, the worthleffnefs 
of the world and the folly of living for it, 
the bafenefs of fin and the confequences 
of indulging in it, all feem to have 
prefled heavily on his mind at this crifis, 
and to have filled him with great humility 
and ferioufnefs ; and though he fubfe- 
quently learned to look with hope and 
comfort to the mercy of God, vouchfafed 
to the penitent, through the death and 
merits of Chrift Jefus, ftill this fpirit of 
lowly watchfulnefs, fo fuitable to frail 
humanity, feems never to have left him. 
He carried it with him to his dying bed ; 
and it appears in the Epitaph he wifhed 
to be infcribed on his tomb. During this 
period likewife, he feems to have had his 
affedtions feverely tried by the untimely 
death of friends. There are in the pieces 



xxxii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

compofed by him at this feafon many 
touching, though obfcure allufions to fuch 
lofles. And thefe, along with his other 
trials, contributed to break up the fallow 
ground in his heart, and prepare it for 
the reception of the divine feed that was 
fubfequently fown there. Juft at this time 
he became acquainted with the writings 
of George Herbert, and derived from 
them fo much of comfort and instruc- 
tion, that he determined to make the life 
and compofltions of that holy man his 
own future models. In imitation there- 
fore of his Temple, he compofed, during 
the intervals of exemption from acute 
Suffering, a number of little cc Sacred 
Poems, and private Ejaculations;" and 
while his Oxford friends were publishing, 
contrary to his wifhes, the Olor Ifcanus, 
he gave the world a more faithful record 
of his mind and heart, in a colle&ion 
of thefe, entitled, Cf Silex Scintillans," 
(Sparks from the flintftone.) This work 
was printed in London in the year 1650, 
and confifted of only one of the two parts 
fubfequently publifhed together. 

Clofe upon this publication followed a 



OF HENRT VAUGHAN. xxxiii 

little book of devotions in profe, entitled, 
cc The Mount of Olives/' and printed in 
the year 1652. It confifts entirely of 
prayers, meditations, and admonitions, all 
excellent of their kind, and calculated at 
once to benefit the reader, and raife the 
writer in his eftimation. There is little or 
no poetry in the volume, the only original 
poetical production there being a kind of 
preface to the laft piece in the volume, 
" an excellent difcourfe of the bleffed ftate 
of man in glory, written by the moft 
reverend and holy Father Anfelm, Arch- 
biftiop of Canterbury." The lines are as 
follows, 

Here Holy Anfelme lives in every page, 

And fits archbifhop Hill to vex the age. 

Had he forefeen, (and who knows but he did ?) — 

This fatal wrack, which deepe in time lay hid, 

'Tis but juft to believe, that little hand, 

Which clouded him, but now benights our land, 

Had never like Elias driven him hence, 

A fad retirer for a flight offence. 

For were he now, like the returning year, 

Reftored to view thefe defolations here, 

He would do penance for his old complaint, 

And weeping fay, that Rufus was a Saint. 

This work is dedicated, Odober ift, 



xxxiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

165 1, to Sir Charles Egerton Knight, 
to whom the writer fays, cc I know, Sir, 
you will be pleafed to accept this poore 
olive leafe prefented to you, fo that I 
fhall not be driven to put forth my hand 
to take in my Dove again." It will 
be conjeftured, from the Epithets given 
to St. Anfelm, that Vaughan's religious 
fpirit, though very fervent and real, was 
not exadlly of the charadfcer of that which 
prevailed at this time. The Puritan 
principle had been to cry down antiquity, 
and pour contempt on that which was 
authorized and eftablifhed. Vaughan on 
the other hand was a lover of order. He 
knew how to diftinguifh between forms 
and formality. He delighted to look up 
to the great and good of other days for 
direction and precedent. What others 
before him had found to be conducive to 
their fpiritual welfare, might, he thought, 
conduce to his. He was glad therefore 
to liftento their teaching, and conform to 
their example ; and inftrudion always 
came to him with additional weight and 
force, when backed by fuch authority. 
At no very diftant period Vaughan 



OF HENRT FAUGHAN. xxxv 

fent forth another little volume in profe, 
entitled, ff Flores Solitudinis," (Flowers 
of Solitude) cc certaine pieces collected by 
him in his fickneffe and retirement.'' 
There are, firft, two difcourfes, the one 
" of Temperance and Patience/' and the 
other cc of Life and Death," tranflated, in 
1652, from the Latin of Nierembergius ; 
fecondly, cc the World Contemned," taken 
from Eucherius, Bifliop of Lyons ; and 
thirdly, cc the Life of Paulinus, Bifhop of 
Nola," compiled by Vaughan himfelf. 
Thefe are dedicated to the fame Sir Charles 
Egerton, to whom his Mount of Olives 
was infcribed, and his addrefs to him 
concludes in thefe words ; cc You will 
" look upon my fuddaine and fmall pre- 
cc fents as upon fome forward flowers, 
" whofe kinde hafte hath brought them 
" above ground in cold weather. The 
cc uncertainty of life, and a peevifh incon- 
cc ftant ftate of health, would not fuffer 
cf me to ftay for greater performances, or 
" a better feafon, left, lofing this, I fhould 
cc never again have the opportunity to 
cc manifeft, how much and how fincerely 
"lam, Sir, your Servant &c." Thefe 



xxxvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

pieces, Vaughan tells us, were likewife 
tranflated by him during his long illnefs. 
They had comforted and inftrudted him 
under his heavy afflictions, and he pub- 
lished them in the hope that they might 
produce like effe&s on others, and enable 
them likewife to give up the world for 
God. cf To leave the world," he fays in 
his preface, " when it leaves us, is both 
fordid and forrowful : I honour that tem- 
per which can lay by the garland when he 
might keep it on ; which can pafs by a 
rofebud, and bid it grow, when he is 
invited to crop it." It is a remarkable 
circumftance that fome of the moft fweet 
and fimple profe writers in our language 
are to be found among thofe, whofe com- 
pofitions in verfe are the moft full of 
affectations and conceits. What a diflim- 
ilarity for inftance is there between Cow- 
ley's "Effays" and his cc Miftrefs," be- 
tween Donne's cc Sermons" and his cc Po- 
ems " ! Quarles's grotefque quaintnefs in 
his cc Emblems " curioufly contrafts with 
the fimple ftrength of his cc Judgment and 
Mercy " ; and we find little of the Epi- 
grammatic abruptnefs of the " Night 



OF HENRT VAUGHAN. xxxvii 

Thoughts " in Young's Cf Centaur not 
fabulous." And if Vaughan had attempt- 
ed any great original work in profe, it 
feems highly probable, from the brief 
fpecimens which we have of his capabili- 
ties, that he would have excelled in this 
fpecies of compofition likewife. The fub- 
je&s however, on which he employed his 
pen, appear to have had no intereft for 
the public at this period. Indeed, trans- 
lations from the Fathers were not likely 
at fuch a time to meet with many fympa- 
thizing readers. The world had been 
deluged by the Puritans with their weak 
and wafliy publications. Still their crude 
theology was that generally in vogue. 
Thofe, who had been difpofed to go up 
and drink at the ftream a little nearer to 
its fource, had pafled away with the exiled 
Cofins and Bramhalls of a former genera- 
tion. The Court party was foon to come 
back from France vitiated alike in tafte 
and principles, and ready to make a jeft 
of every thing religious. This then, was 
not a time at which treatifes, fuch as thofe 
now published by Henry Vaughan, were 
likely to become popular. They were 



xxxviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

accordingly never reprinted, and their very 
existence is almoft: unknown to ordinary 
Englifh Readers. The following verfes 
clofe this little volume, of which the laft 
thirty-four lines are very ftriking. 

ST. PAULINUS,TO HIS WIFE, THERASIA. 

" Come, my true Confort in my joyes and care, 

Let this uncertaine and ftill wafting fhare 

Of our fraile life be given to God ! you fee, 

How the fwift dayes drive hence inceiTantlie ; 

And the fraile drooping world, though ftill thought gay, 

In fecret flow confumption weares away. 

All that we have pafle from us, and once paft, 

Returne no more. Like clouds they feeme to laft, 

And fo delude loofe greedy mindes. But where 

Are now thofe trim deceits ? To what dark fphere • 

Are all thofe falfe fires funk, which once fo fhined, . 

They captivated foules and ruled mankind ? 

And what, Therafia, doth it us availe, 

That fpatious ftreames fhall flow and never faile, 

That aged forrefts live to tyre the winds, 

And flowers each Spring returne and keepe their kinds? 

Thofe ftill remaine ; but all our Fathers dyed ; 

And we ourfelves but for few dayes abide. 

This ftiort tyme then was not given us in vaine, 
To whom tyme dyes, in which we dying gaine ; 
But that in tyme eternall life fhould be 
Our care, and endlefle reft our induftrie. 
And yet this taike, which the rebellious deeme 
Too harfh, who God's mild lawes for chaines efteem, 



OF HENRT VAUGHAN. xxxix 

Suites with the rneeke and harmlefle heart fo right, 
That 'tis all eafe, all comfort, and delight. 
" To love our God with all our ftrength and will ; 
To covet nothing ; to devife no ill 
Againft our neighbours ; to procure or doe 
Nothing to others which we would not to 
Our very felves ; not to revenge our wrong ; 
" To be content with little ; not to long 
" For wealth and greatnefle ; to deipife or jeare 

No man ; and, if we be defpifed, to bear : 
" To feed the hungry ; to hold fall our crown ; 

To take from others nought to give our owne." 
Thefe are his precepts, and alas in thefe 
What is fo hard but faith may doe with eafe ? 
He that the holy Prophets doth beleeve, 
And on God's words relies, (words that ftill live, 
And cannot dye) that in his heart hath writ 
His Saviour's death and triumph ; and doth yet 
With conftant care admitting no neglect 
His fecond dreadfull coming ftill expect ; 
To fuch a liver earthy things are dead ; 
With Heaven alone, and Hopes of Heaven hee's fed. 
He is no vaiTall unto worldly trafh, 
Nor that black knowledge, which pretends to wafh, 
But doth defile ; a knowledge by which men 
With ftudied care lofe Paradife again. 
Commands and titles, the vaine world's device, 
With gold, the forward feed of fin and vice, 
He never minds. His ay me is farre more high ; 
And ftoopes to nothing lower than the Ikye. 
Nor griefs nor pleafures breede him any pain : 
He nothing feares to lofe ; would nothing gaine. 



xl BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

Whatever hath not God he doth deteft. 

He lives to Chrift ; is dead to all the reft. 

This Holy One, fent hither from above, 

A Virgin brought forth, fhadowed by the Dove. 

A crown of Thornes His blefled head did wound, 

Nayles pierced His hands and feet, and He faft bound 

Stuck to the painfull croffe, where, hanged till dead, 

With a cold fpeare his heart's dear blood was fhed. 

All this for man, for bad ungratefull man, 

The true God fuffered : not that fufFering can 

Adde to his glory aught, who can receive 

AccefTe from nothing ; whom none can bereave 

Of his all-fulneiTe : but the bleft defigne 

Of His fad death was to fave me from mine. 

He dying bore my fins ; and the third day 

His early riling raifed me from the clay. 

To fuch great mercies what fhall I preferre, 

Or who from loving God fhall mee deterre ? 

Burne mee alive with curious fkilfull paine, 

Cut up and fearch each warme and breathing vein ; 

When all is done death brings a quick releafe, 

And the poore mangled body fleepes in peace. 

Hale mee to prifons ; fhut mee up in brafTe : 

My ftill free foule from thence to God fhall pafTe. 

Banifh or bind me ; I can be no where 

A ftranger or alone ; my God is there. 

I fear not famine. How can he be faid 

To Starve, who feedes upon the Living Bread ? 

And yet this courage fprings not from my ftore ; 

Chrift gave it mee, who can give much, much more. 

I of myfelf can nothing dare or doe ; 

He bids mee fight; and makes mee Conquer too. 



OF HENRT VAUGHAN. xli 

If like great Abraham I mould have command 
To leave my father's houfe and native land, 
I would with joy to unknown regions run, 
Bearing the banner of His blefTed Son. 
On worldly goods I will have no defigne ; 
But ufe my owne, as if mine were not mine. 
Wealth I'll not wonder at, nor greatnelTe feeke ; 
But chufe, though laughed at, to be poore and meake. 
In woe and wealth I'll keepe the fame flayed mind ; 
Grief fhall not breake me, nor joyes make me blind ! 

Then come, my faithfull confort, joyne with me. 
In this good fight, and my true helper be ! 
Cheer me when fad, advife me when I ilray ; 
Let us be each the other's guide and flay. 
Be your Lord's guardian. Give joynt ayde and due ; 
Helpe him when falne ; Rife when he helpetk you.. 
That fo we may not onely one flelh bee,. 
But in one Spirit and one will agree ! " 

It would be gratifying to be able to 
ftate that Henry Vaughan's poetry, re- 
plete as it is with beauty and originality, 
had met with a better reception than his 
profe. But we cannot in honefty fay that 
this was the cafe. That he had his ad- 
mirers among the difcerning few there can 
be no doubt. His friends at Oxford more 
efpecially feem to have treafured up care- 
fully every fcrap of verfe that fell from 
his pen. But with the. public at large, 
d. 



xlii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

and particularly with reference to his re- 
ligious poetry, it was far otherwife. It 
might at firft fight appear that his Silex 
Scintillanshadat leaft found readers enough 
to carry it through a fecond edition. A 
volume fo defignated by the Publifher was 
fent forth in the year 1655, containing all 
the poems printed in the year 1 651, to- 
gether with a fecond part, almoft equal in 
extent to the former, and the whole pre- 
ceded by a very interefting preface, full of 
juft thoughts and pious fentiments. But 
on clofer infpeftion it is evident that we 
have here only the unfold copies of the 
volume before published, with the preface 
and fecond part added to them, and a new 
title prefixed to the whole. All this is dis- 
cernible from the paging of this nominally 
fecond edition, and it fpeaks loudly of the 
negle6fc which the previous volume had ex- 
perienced. The poems contained in this 
fecond part are in no refpedt inferior to 
thofe before published. Indeed in fome 
points they prefent rather an improve- 
ment on them. They feem to exhibit 
more of Vaughan's own natural vein, and 
iefs of that of his excellent mafter. Pre- 



OF HENRT FAUGHAN. xliii 

ferving all the piety of George Herbert, 
they have lefs of his quaint and fantaftic 
turns, with a much larger infufion of 
poetic feeling and expreflion. Their merits 
however feem to have been but ill appre- 
ciated by the taftelefs and godlefs genera- 
tion for whom Vaughan wrote > and his 
little volume accordingly foon fank into 
oblivion. We learn from its contents that 
the Author was ftill a fufferer, his body ftill 
labouring under the protracted illnefs that 
had attacked him five years before, and 
his heart bleeding from the further lofs of 
beloved relatives and friends. 

It is fcarcely to be wondered that, under 
fuch difcouraging circumftances, Henry 
Vaughan, in the prime of life, and the full 
maturity of his talents, fhould have ceafed 
from all further Authorfhip. Accordingly 
during the forty years that he lived, after 
the fecond edition of his Silex, he gave 
nothing more to the public. In the year 
1678 however, one of his zealous Oxford 
friends, J. W. (the initials have not been 
verified) fent forth a little volume, entitled 
" Thalia Rediviva, thepafltimesanddiver- 
fions of a Countrey Mufe," which, though 



xliv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

it contains no reference to Henry Vaughan 
in the title page, confifts entirely of his 
poetry, together with a few of his brother 
Thomas's Latin verfes appended. But in 
this publication Henry Vaughan took no 
part, though there is no reafon to fuppofe 
that he was adually oppofed to it. The 
contents are of a motley defcription, con- 
fifting of elegies, tranflations, addreffes to 
individuals, and are evidently of the moft 
various dates, fome of them written in his 
youthful days at the University, and others 
in his maturer years, fubfequently in all 
probability to the publication of the Silex 
Scintillans. The Volume is ufhered in by 
commendatory verfes from Cf the matchlefs 
Orinda," Mrs. Catherine Philips, Dr. 
Thomas Powell, and other Oxford friends 
and admirers, and contains nothing which 
the moft faftidious moralift could find fault 
with. At the clofe of the work is a col- 
lection of religious pieces, entitled 4C pious 
thoughts and ejaculations," the whole of 
which, together with a Paftoral Elegy on 
the death of Thomas Vaughan, we have 
included in the volume now published, fo 
that the whole of Henry Vaughan's reli- 



OF HENRT VAUGHAN, xlv 

gious poetry may ftand at once before the 
reader. 

From the time of this laft publication 
to that of his death we have no further 
information to furnifli refpe6ting our Au- 
thor. He appears to have ftolen away 
altogether from public life, to purfue his 
quiet walk with God, and enjoy the con- 
verfe of fuch friends as were ftill left to 
him ; and found abundant fcope for the 
exercife of his powers, in the labours of a 
ufeful profeffion, and the education of his 
growing family. He was twice married, 
and had by his firft wife five children, two 
fons and three daughters, and by the fecond 
one daughter. Of the latter alone is any- 
thing further known. She married John 
Turberville, and her granddaughter died 
fingle in 1780 aged 92. For himfelf he 
had the fatisfaition of clofing his days un- 
der the roof and amidft the fcenes where 
they had commenced. His beloved Ufk 
and the beautiful Vale through which it 
flows were daily before his eyes to the laft, 
and probably afforded him many a poetic 
ramble, when his more ferious avocations 
admitted of them. It would appear from 



xlvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

one of his little Latin poems, that he was 
a fifherman, and the moral with which he 
accompanies a falmon of his own catching, 
fent as a prefent to a friend, would feem 
to imply that this amufement was occa- 
sionally purfued by him even in riper and 
more thoughtful years. But thefe little 
conjectural notices of his ordinary life and 
avocations muft neceflarily reft on very 
flender data. Much more fatisfa&ory is it 
to know, that he died, as he lived, in holy 
confcioufnefs of his own unworthinefs, and 
in humble dependence on the merits of his 
Redeemer. He departed this life, April 
the 23rd, in the year 1695, aged 73, and 
defired that the following infcriptionfhould 
be placed on his tomb, 

" Servus inutilis, 

Peccator maximus, 

Hie jaceo. 

Gloria ! f miferere ! " 

f An unprofitable fervant the chief of fin- 
ners I lie here. Glory be to God ! f Lord 
have mercy upon me ! * 

Such are the particulars that we have 
been able to gather refpedting Henry 
Vaughan and his works. They prefent 



OF HENRT FAUGH AN. xlvii 

a pi&ure of one who lived to God rather 
than to man ; and if there is little of in- 
cident in the details, let us remember, that 
it is with the lives of private individuals 
as with the reigns of Princes ; thofe are 
often the happieft and moft profperous, 
which make the leafl: noife and fhow in the 
page of Hiftory. The mind and heart 
of our Author are abundantly exhibited 
in his writings, which are full of individu- 
ality ; and while we would deprecate 
pledging ourfelves to every fentiment they 
contain, we feel that they claim for him 
unvarying refpedt, and commend them- 
felves to us as the genuine overflowings 
of a fincere and humble fpirit. We feel, 
while reading them, that we have to do 
with a truly good and earneft man. His 
poems difplay much originality of thought, 
and frequently likewife much felicity of 
expreflion. The former is indeed at times 
condenfed into obfcurity, and the latter 
defaced with quaintnefs. But Vaughan 
never degenerates into a fmooth verfi- 
fier of common places. One indeed of 
his great faults as a poet, is the attempt 
to crowd too much of matter into his 



xlviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

fentences, fo that they read roughly and 
inharmonioufly, the words almoft elbow- 
ing each other out of the lines. His 
rhymes too are frequently defective, and 
he delights in making the fenfe of one 
line run over into the line following. This, 
when not overdone, is doubtlefs a beauty 
in versification, and redeems it from that 
monotony, which fo offends in the poets 
of Queen Anne's time. Yet even this may 
be puftied to excels, and become by its 
uniformity liable itfelf to the imputation 
of monotony. Take for inftance the very 
beautiful lines of Vaughan entitled "Rules 
and Leffons," the firft five ftanzas of which 
ftrikingly exemplify the fault here fpeci- 
fied ; and it was perhaps their confequent 
harfhnefs, that induced Bernard Barton 
to tranfpofe them, not infelicitoufly, into 
a different ftanza. A more favourable 
fpecimen of line flowing into line is the 
following morning addtefs to a cc Bird." 

Hither thou com'fl. The bufie wind all night 
Blew through thy lodging ; where thy own warm wing 
Thy pillow was : and many a fullen ftorm, 
For which coarfe man feems much the fitter born, 

Rained on thy bed, 

And harmlefs head ; 



OF HENRT VJUGHJN. xlii 

And now as frefh and cheerful as the light 
Thy little heart in early hymns doth ling ! 

This will be felt to be very tender and 
beautiful, notwithstanding the imperfed 
rhyme in the fourth line ; and the volume 
now republished is full of like paflages. 
Indeed it may with truth be faid of 
Vaughan that his faults are in a great mea- 
fure thofe of the age he lived in, and the 
mafter he imitated, while his beauties are 
all his own. That he will ever become 
a thoroughly popular poet is fcarcely to 
be expe&ed in this age. ~"~But among thofe 
who can prize poetic thought, even when 
clad in a drefs fomewhat quaint and anti- 
quated, who love to commune with a heart 
overflowing with religious ardour, and 
who do not value this the lefs, becaufe it 
has been lighted at the earlier and purer 
fires of Christianity, and has caught a 
portion of their youthful glow, poems like 
thefe of H^nry Vaughan's will not want 
their readers, nor will fuch readers be un- 
thankful to have our Author and his 
Works introduced to their acquaintance. 

H. F. L. 

Rome, April 1847. 



I 





The Author's Preface. 

^Hat this Kingdom hath abound- 
ed with thofe ingenious per- 
fons, which in the late notion 
are termed Wits, is too well 
known. Many of them having caft away 
all their fair portion of time, in no better 
imployments, than a deliberate fearch, or 
excogitation of idle words, and a moft vain, 
infatiable defire to be reputed Poets ; leav- 
ing behinde them no other Monuments 
of thofe excellent abilities conferred upon 
them, but fuch as they may (with a Pre- 
decejfor of theirs) term Parricides, and a 
foul killing Iffue, for that is the BpufisTov, 
and Laureate Crown, which idle Poems 
will certainly bring to their unrelenting 
Authors. 

And well it were for them, if thofe wil- 
lingly ftudied and wilfully-published vani- 



lii THE PREFACE. 

ties could defile no fpirits, but their own; 
but the cafe is far worfe. Thefe Vipers 
furvive their Parents, and for many ages 
after (like Epidemic difeafes) infedt whole 
Generations, corrupting always and un- 
hallowing the beft-gifted Souls , and the 
moft capable Vejfels : for whofe fandtifi- 
cation and well-fare, the glorious Son of 
God laid down his life, and fuffered the 
pretious blood of his blefled and innocent 
heart to be poured out. In the mean time 
it cannot be denyed, but thefe men are 
had in remembrance, though we cannot 
fay with any comfort, 'Their memorial is 
blejfed ; for, that I may fpeak no more 
than the truth (let their paflionate wor- 
fhippers fay what they pleafe) all the com- 
mendations that can be juftly given them 
will amount to no more, than what Pru~ 
dentins the Chriftian-facred Poet bellowed 
upon Symmachus ; 

Os dignum aterno tinttum quodfulgeat auro 
Si mallet laudare deum : cui fordid a monftra 
Pratwlit, & liquidam t enter avit crimine vocem ; 
Haud aliter, quam cum raftris qui tentat eburnis 
Canofum verfare folum y &c. 



THE PREFACE. liii 

In Engliih thus, 

A wit moll worthy in tryed Gold to mine, 
Immortal Gold ! had he fung the divine 
Praife of his Maker : to whom he preferr'd 
Obfcene, vile fancies, and prophanely marr'd 
A rich, rare ftile with finful, lewd contents ; 
No otherwife, then if with Inftruments 
Of polifh'd Ivory, fome drudge mould flir 
A dirty fink, l£c. 

This comparifon is nothing odious, and 
it is as true, as it is appofite ; for a good 
wit in a bad fubjed, is (as Solomon faid of 
the fair and foolijh woman) Like a jewel 
of gold in a f wine's fnowt, Prov. n. 22. 
Nay, the more acute the Author is, there 
is fo much the more danger and death in 
the work. Where the Sun is bufie upon 
a dung-hill y the ijfue is always fome un- 
clean vermine. Divers perfons of eminent 
piety and learning (I meddle not with the 
feditious and Schifmatical) have, long be- 
fore my time, taken notice of this malady ; 
for the complaint againft vitious verfe y tvtn 
by peaceful and obedient fpir its, is of fome 
antiquity in this Kingdom. And yet, as 
if the evil confequence attending this in- 



liv THE PREFACE, 

veterate error were but a fmall thing, there 
is fprung very lately another profperous 
device to aflift it in the fubverfion of fouls. 
Thofe that want the Genius of verfe fall 
to tr (inflating ; and the people are every 
term plentifully furnifhed with various 
Foraign vanities ; fo that the moft lafci- 
vious compofitions of France and Italy are 
here naturalized and made Englifh : And 
this, as it is fadly obferved, with fo much 
favor and fuccefs, that nothing takes (as 
they rightly phrafe it) like a Romance. 
And very frequently, if that Charatler be 
not an Ivybujh the buyer receives this lewd 
ware from perfons of honor : who want not 
reafon to forbear, much private misfortune 
having fprung from no other feed at firft, 
than fome infe&ious and diflblving Legend. 
To continue after years of difcretion in 
this vanity, is an inexcufable defertion of 
pious fobriety : and to perfift fo to the end, 
is a wilful defpifing of Gods facred exhor- 
tations, by a conftant, fenfual volutation 
or wallowing in impure thoughts andfcur- 
rilous conceits, which both defile their Au- 
thors, and as many more as they are com- 
municated to. If every idle word /hall 



THE PREFACE. lv 

be accounted for ', and if no corrupt commu- 
nication Jhould proceed out of our mouths , 
how defperate, I befeech you, is their con- 
dition, who all their life time, and out of 
meer defign, ftudy lafcivious fictions , then 
carefully record and publiih them, that 
inftead of grace and life, they may minifter 
fin and death unto their readers ? It was 
wifely confidered, and pioufly faid by one, 
That he would read no idle books ; both in 
regard of love to his own foul, and pity un- 
to his that made them ; for, faid he, if I be 
corrupted by them, their Compofer is imme- 
diately a caufe of my ill ; and at the day 
of reckoning, though now dead, muft give 
an account for it, becaufe I am corrupted 
by his bad example, which he left behinde 
him. I will write none, left I hurt them 
that come after me ; I will read none, left 
I augment his punifhment that is gone before 
me. I will neither write, nor read, left I 
prove a foe to my own foul : while I live, 
I fin too much ; let me not continue longer in 
wickednefs, than I do in life. It is a fen- 
tence of facred authority, that he that is 
dead is freed from fin ; becaufe he cannot 
in that ft ate, which is without the body, 



lvi THE PREFACE. 

fin any more ; but he that writes idle books 
makes for himfelf another body, in which 
he always lives, and fins (after death) as 
fafi and as foul, as ever he did in his life ; 
which very consideration deferves to be a 
fufficient Antidote againft this evil difeafe. 
And here, becaufe I would prevent a 
juft cenfure by my free confeffion, I muft 
remember, that I my felf have, for many 
years together, languifhed of this very 
ficknefs ; and it is no long time fince I have 
recovered. But (blefled be God for it !) 
I have by his faving afliftance fuppreft my 
greateft follies, and thofe which efcaped 
from me, are, I think, as innoxious, as moft 
of that vein ufe to be; befides, they are 
interlined with many virtuous, and fome 
pious mixtures. What I fpeak of them 
is truth : but let no man miftake it for 
an extenuation of faults, as if I intended an 
Apology for them y or my felf, who am con- 
fcious of fo much guilt in both, as can never 
be expiated without f fecial for rows, and 
that cleanfing and pretious ejfufion of my 
Almighty Redeemer. And if the world 
will be fo charitable as to grant my requeft, 
I do here moft humbly and earneftly beg 
that none would read them. 



THE PREFACE. lvii 

But an idle or fenfual fubjeff is not all 
the poyjon in thefe Pamphlets. Certain 
Authors have been fo irreverendly bold, 
as to dafh Scriptures, and the /acred Rela- 
tives of God with their impious conceits ; 
And (which I cannot fpeak without grief 
of heart) fome of thofe defperate adven- 
turers may, I think, be reckoned amongft 
the principal or moft learned Writers of 
Englijh verfe. 

Others of a later date, being corrupted, 
it may be, by that evil Genius, which 
came in with the publique diftra&ions, 
have fluffed their books with Oathes, 
horrid Execrations, and a moft grofs and 
ftudied filthinefs. But the hurt that en- 
fues by the publication of pieces fo noto- 
rioufly ill lies heavily upon the Stationer's 
account, who ought in confcience to refufe 
them, when they are put into his hands. 
No lofs is fo doleful as that gain, that will 
endamage the foul. He, that prints lewd- 
nefs and impieties, is that mad-man in 
the Proverbs, who cafteth firebrands, ar- 
rows and death. 

The fuppreffion of this pleafing and 
prevailing evil, lies not altogether in the 



lviii THE PREFACE. 

power of the Magiftrate ; for it will flie 
abroad in Manuscripts, when it fails of 
entertainment at the prefs. The true 
remedy lies wholly in their bofoms, who 
are the gifted perfons, by a wife exchange 
of vain and vitious fubjeffs, for divine 
Themes and Celeftial praife. The perfor- 
mance is eafie, and, were it the moft 
difficult in the world, the reward is fo 
glorious, that it infinitely tranfcends it : 
for they that turn many to right eoufnefs 
Jhall fhine like the fiars for ever and ever : 
whence follows this undenyable inference, 
that the corrupting of many, being a con- 
trary work, the recompense muft be fo too ; 
and then I know nothing referved for 
them, but the blacknefs of darknejs for 
ever; from which, O God, deliver all 
penitent and reformed fpirits ! 

The firft, that with any effectual fuc- 
cefs attempted a diverfion of this foul and 
overflowing Jlream, was the blefled man, 
Mr. George Herbert, whofe holy life and 
verfe gained many pious Converts, of 
whom I am the leaft ; and gave the firft 
check to a moft flourishing and admired 



THE PREFACE. lix 

Wit of his time. After him followed di- 
verfe, — Sed non pafftbus <equis ; they had 
more of fafhion, than of force : And the 
reafon of their fo vaft diftance from him, 
befides differing fpirits and qualifications, 
(for his meajure was eminent,) I fufpedt to 
be, becaufe they aimed more at verje, 
than perfection, as may be eafily gathered 
by their frequent impreffions, and numer- 
ous pages : Hence fprang thofe wide, 
thofe weak, and lean conceptions, which 
in the moft inclinable Reader will fcarce 
give any nourishment or help to devotion ; 
for not flowing from a true, pra&ick 
piety, it was impoflible they fhould effedl 
thofe things abroad, which they never 
had acquaintance with at home ; being 
onely the productions of a common fpirit, 
and the obvious ebullitions of that light 
humor, which takes the pen in hand, out 
of no other confederation, than to be feen 
in print. It is true indeed, that to give 
up our thoughts to pious Themes and 
Contemplations, if it be done for pietie's 
fake, is a great Jlep towards perfection ; 
becaufe it will refine, and difpofe to devo- 



Ix THE PREFACE. 

tion and fan&ity. And further, it will 
procure for us (fo eafily communicable is 
that loving Spirit) fome fmall prelibation 
of thofe heavenly refrefhments, which de- 
fcend but feldom, and then very fparingly, 
upon men of an ordinary or indifferent 
holynefs. But he that defires to excel in 
this kinde of Hagiography, or holy writing, 
muft ftrive by all means for perfection 
and true holynefs > that a door may be opened 
to him in heaven. Rev. 4. 1. and then he 
will be able to write, with Hierotheus and 
holy Herbert^ " A true Hymn'' 

To effeit this in fome meafure, I have 
begged leave to communicate this my 
poor talent to the Church, under the 
protection and conduct of her glorious 
Head : who, if he will vouchfafe to own 
it, and go along with it, can make it as 
ufeful now in the publick as it hath been 
to me in private. In the perufal of it, 
you will (peradventure) obferve fome 
paffages, whofe hiftory or reafon may feem 
fomething remote ; but were they brought 
nearer , and plainly expofed to your view, 
though that perhaps might quiet your 



THE PREFACE. lxi 

curiofity, yet would it not conduce much 
to your greater advantage. And there- 
fore I muft defire you to accept of them 
in that latitude, which is already allowed 
them. By the laft Poems in the book, 
were not that mijiake here prevented, you 
would judge all to be fatherlefs, and the 
Edition pofthume ; for indeed I was nigh 
unto deaths and am ftill at no great diftance 
from it ; which was the neceflary reafon 
for that folemn and accompliflied drefs, 
you will finde this impreffion in. 

But the God of the fpirits of all flefh 
hath granted me a further ufe of mine 
than I did look for in the body ; and when 
I expedted, and had by his afliftance pre- 
pared for, a mejfage of death, then did he 
anfwer me with life ; I hope to his glory, 
and my great advantage ; that I may 
flourifli not with leafe onely, but with 
fome fruit alfo ; which hope and earneft 
defire of his poor Creature, I humbly be- 
feech him to perfe<5t and fulfil for his 
dear Son's fake, unto Whom, with Him and 
the moft holy and loving Spirit, be af- 
cribed by Angels, by Men, and by all 



lxii THE PREFACE. 

his Works, All Glory, and Wifdom, and 
Dominion, in this the temporal and in the 
Eternal Being. Amen. 

Newton by UJk, near Sketh-Rock, 
Septem. 30, 1654. 





Lord, the hope of Ifrael, all they that 
forfake thee /ball be ajhamed ; and they 
that depart from thee, Jh all be written 
in the earth, becaufe they have for fak en 
the Lord, the fountain of living waters. 

Heal me, O Lord, and I Jhall be healed ; fave 
me, and I Jhall be faved, for thou art my health, 
and my great deliverer, 

I faid in the cutting off of my days, I Jhall go to 
the gates of the grave ; I have deprived my f elf of 
the refidue of my years. 

I faid, I Jhall not Jee the Lord, even the Lord in 
the Land of the living : 1 Jhall behold man no more 
with the Inhabitants of the world. 

O Lord! by thee doth man live, and from thee is 
the life of my fpirit : therefore wilt thou recover me, 
and make me to live. 

Thou hajl in love to my Joul delivered it from the 
pit of corruption ; for thou haft caft all my fins be- 
hind thy back. 

For thy name's Jake haft thou put off thine anger s 
for thy praife haft thou refrained from me, that I 
Ihould not be cut off. 



For the grave cannot praife thee, death cannot 
celebrate thee : they, that go down into the pit, can- 
not hope for thy truth. 

The living, the living, he Jh all praife thee, as 1 
do this day : the Father to the children Jhall make 
known thy truth. 

Lord ; thou haft been merciful ; thou haft 
brought back my life from corruption : thou haft re- 
deemed me from my fin. 

They, that follow after lying vanities, forfake 
their own mercy. 

Therefore Jhall thy fongs be with me, and my 
prayer unto the God of my life. 

1 will go unto the altar of my God, unto God, the 
joy of my youth ; and in thy fear will I worjhip to- 
wards thy holy temple. 

I will facrifce unto thee with the voice ofthankf- 
giving ; I will pay that which I have vowed ; fal- 
v at ion is of the Lord. 






To my moft merciful, my moft loving, 

and dearly loved Redeemer, the 

ever blefled, the onely Holy 

and Just One, 

JESUS CHRIST, 

The Son of the living GOD, and the 
facred Virgin Mary, 




Y God ! thou that didft dye for me, 

Thefe thy death's fruits I offer thee ; 
Death that to me was life and light, 
But dark and deep pangs to thy fight. 
Some drops of thy all-quickning blood 
Fell on my heart ; thofe made it bud, 
And put forth thus, though Lord, before 
The ground was curft, and void of (lore. 
Indeed I had fome here to hire 
Which long refitted thy defire, 
That fton'd thy fervants, and did move 
To have thee murthred for thy love ; 
But Lord, I have expell'd them, and fo bent, 
Beg, thou wouldft take thy Tenant's Rent. 



Ixvi THE DEDICATION. 



II. 

Dear Lord, 'tis finifhed ! and now he 

That copyed it, prefents it thee. 

'Twas thine firft, and to thee returns, 

From thee it mined, though here it burns ; 

If the Sun rife on Rocks, is't right, 

To call it their inherent light ? 

No, nor can I fay, this is mine, 

For, dearefl Jefus, 'tis all thine. 

Thy cloaths, when thou with cloaths wert clad 

Both light from thee, and virtue had ; 

And now, as then within this place, 

Thou to poor rags doll Hill give grace. 

This is the earnefl thy love fheds, 

The Candle ihining on fome heads, 

Till at thy charges they lhall be, 

Cloath'd all with immortality. 

My dear Redeemer, the world's light, 

And life too, and my heart's delight ! 

For all thy mercies and thy truth 

Shew'd to me in my finful youth, 

For my fad failings and my wilde 

Murmurings at thee, when moll milde ; 

For all my fecret faults, and each 

Frequent relapfe and wilful breach, 

For all defigns meant againfl thee, 

And ev'ry publifh'd vanity, 

Which thou divinely hall forgiven, 

While thy blood wafti'd me white as heaven : 

I nothing have to give to thee, 



THE DEDICATION. lxvii 

But this thy own gift, given to me. 
Refufe it not ! for now thy Token 
Can tell thee where a heart is broken. 



Revel, cap. i. ver. 5, 6, 7. 

Unto him that loved us> and wafhed us from our 
fins in his own blood. 

And hath made us Kings and Priefts unto God 
and his Father ; to him be glory and dominion, for 
ever and ever. Amen. 

Behold, he co?neth with clouds, and every eyejhall 
fee him, and they alfo which pierced him; and all kin- 
dreds of the earth Jhall wail becaufe of him : even 
Jo. Amen. 




Author is (defej Emblema. 

*Entafti, fat eor, fine vulnere fcepius, et me 
Confultum voluit Vox, fine voce, fre- 
quens ; 
Ambivit placido divinior aura meatu, 
E t fruftra fan ft o murmur e prtemonuit. 
S urdus eram, mutufque Silex : Tu, (quanta tuorum 

Cur a tibi eft I 'J alia das renovare via ; 
Permutas Cur am : Jamque irritatus Amorem 

Pojfe negas, et vim, N\, f up er are paras ; 
Accedis propior, molemque, et Saxea rumpis 

Peftora,fitque Caro, quod fuit ante Lapis. 
En lacerum ! Ccelofque tuos ardentia tandem 

Fragmenta, et liquidas ex Adamante genas ! 
Sic olim undantes Petras, Scopulofque vomentes 

Curdfti, populi providus ufque tui ! 
Quam miranda tibi manus efi ! Moriendo, revixi ; 
Et fractas jam j urn ditior inter opes. 



SILEX SCINTILLANS. 

PART I. 




Silex Scintillans, &c. 

Regeneration. 

Ward, and Hill in bonds, one day 

I Hole abroad ; 
It was high-fpring, and all the way 
Primrofed, and hung with fliade ; 
Yet was it froft within ; 
The furly wind 
Blafted my infant buds, and fmne 

Like Clouds ecclipfed my mind. 

2. 
Storm'd thus ; I ftraight perceived my fpring 

Meere ftage and fhow, 
My walke a monftrous, mountain'd thing 

Rough-caft with Rocks and fnow ; 
And as a Pilgrim's Eye, 
Far from reliefe, 
Meafures the melancholy fkye, 

Then drops, and rains for griefe, 

3- 
So figh'd I upwards ftill ; at laft 

'Twixt Heps, and falls, 
I reach'd the pinacle, where plac'd 



4 SILEX SCINTILLANS. 

I found a paire of fcales ; 
I took them up, and layd 

In th' one late paines ; 

The other fmoake and pleafures weigh'd, 

But prov'd the heavier graines. 

.4- , 
With that fome eryed, Away / flraight I 

Obey'd, and led 
Full Eaft, a faire, frefh field could fpy ; 
Some caird it, Jacob's Bed ; 
A Virgin foile, which no 
Rude feet ere trod ; 
Where, fince He ftept there, only go 

Prophets and friends of God. 

5* 
Here I repos'd ; : but fcarce well fet 
A grove defcryed 
Of ftately height, whofe branches met 
And mixt on every fide ; 
I entred, and once in, 
Amaz'd to fee't, 
Found all was chang'd, and a new fpring 
Did all my fenfes greet. 

6, 

The unthrift Sunne {hot vitall gold 

A thoufand peeces^ 
And heaven its azure did unfold 

Chequer 'd with fnowie fleeces. 
The aire was all in fpice, 
And every buih 
A garland wore % Thus fed my Eyes, 
But all the Eare lay hufh. . 



OR SACRED POEMS. 

7- 
Only a little Fountain lent 

Some ufe for Eares, 
And on the dumbe ihades language fpent, 
The Mufick of her teares ; 
I drew her neere, and found 
The Cifterne full 
Of divers Hones, fome bright and round, 
Others ill-ihap'd and dull. 

8. 
The firft (pray marke,) as quick as light 

Danc'd through the floud ; 
But, th' laft more heavy than the night 
Nail'd to the Centre flood ; 
I wonder'd much, but tyr'd 
At laft with thought, 
My reftlefs Eye, that ftili defir'd, 

As ftrange an objecl: brought. 

9- 

It was a banke of flowers, where I defcried * 

(Though 'twas mid-day,) 
Some faft afleepe, others broad-eyed, 
And taking in the Ray ; 
Here muling long I heard 
A rufhing wind, 
Which ftill increas'd, but whence it ftirr'd, 
No where I could not find. 

10. 

I turn'd me round, and to each made 
Difpatch'd an Eye, 
To fee if any leafe had made 

Leaft motion or Reply ; 



6 SILEX SC1NTILLANS 

But while I liftning fought 
My mind to eafe 
By knowing, where 'twas, or where not, 
Itwhifper'd; Where 1 pleafe. 

Lord, then faid I, On me one breath 9 
And let me dye before my death ! 

Cant. cap. 5. ver. 17. 
Arife, O North, and come thou Soutb-wind y and 
blow upon my garden, that the fpices thereof may flow 
out. 



Death, A Dialogue. 

Soule. 
Hs a fad Land, that in one day 
Hath dulPd thee thus, when death 

fhall freeze 
Thy bloud to Ice, and thou mull ftay 
Tenant for Yeares, and Centuries ; 
How wilt thou brook' t ? — - 

Body. 
I cannot tell ; 

But if all fence wings not with thee, 
And fomething Hill be left the dead, 
Fie wifh my Curtaines off, to free 
Me from fo darke and fad a bed ; 

A neft of nights, a gloomie fphere, 
Where lhadowes thicken, and the Cloud 
Sits on the Sun's brow all the yeare, 
And nothing moves without a fhrowd. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 7 

Soule. 
'Tis fo: But as thou faweft that night 
Wee travelPd in, our firft attempts 
Were dull and blind, but Cuftome ftraight 
Our fears and falls brought to contempt. 

Then, when the ghaftly twelve was paft, 
We breath'd ftill for a blufhing Eaft, 
And bad the lazie Sunne make hafte, 
And on fure hopes, though long, did feaft. 

But when we faw the Clouds to crack, 
And in thofe Cranies light appear'd, 
We thought the day then was not flack, 
And pleas'd our felves with what wee feared. 

Juft fo it is in death. But thou 
Shalt in thy mother's bofome fleepe, 
Whilft I each minute grone to know 
How neere Redemption creepes. 

Then fhall wee meet to mixe again, and met, 
'Tis laft good-night ; our Sunne fhall never fet. 

Job. Cap. 10. ver. 21. 22. 

Before I goe whence 1 Jball not returne, even to 
the land of darknejfe, and the Jhadow of death ; 

A Land of darknejfe , as darknejfe it felfe, and of 
the Jhadow of death y without any order, and where 
the light is as darknejfe. 




S1LEX SCINTILLANS 



Refurredtiori and Immortality : 

HeL cap. 10. ver. 20. 
By that new, and living way, which he hath pre- 
pared for us y through the veile, which is his jiejh. 

Body. 



* Ft have I feen, when that renewing breath, 
That binds and loofens death, 
Infpir'd a quickning power through the 
dead 
Creatures abed, 
Some drowfie filk-worme creepe 
From that long fleepe, 
And in weake, infant hummings chime, and knell 

About her filent Cell, 
Until at laft full with the vitall Ray 
She wing'd away, 
And proud with life, and fence, 
Heaven's rich Expence, 
Efteem'd (vaine things !) of two whole Elements 

As meane, and fpan-extents. 
Shall I then thinke fuch providence will be 
Lefle friend to me ? 
Or that he can endure to be unjuft 
Who keeps his Covenant even with our dull. 

Soule. 
z. 
Poore, querulous handfull ! was't for this 
I taught thee all that is ? 



OR SACRED POEMS. 9 

Unbowel'd nature lhew'd thee her recruits, 
And Change of fuits, 
And how of death we make 
A meere miflake ; 
For no thing can to Nothing fall, but flill 

Incorporates by fkill, 
And then returns, and from the wombe of things 
Such treafure brings, 
As Phenix-Wke, renew'th 

Both life, and youth ; 
For a preferving fpirit doth Hill paffe 

Untainted through this MafTe, 
Which doth refolve, produce, and ripen all 
That to it fall ; 
Nor are thofe births, which we 
Thus fuffering fee, 
Deftroy'd at all ; But when time's refllefs wave 

Their fubflance doth deprave, 
And the more noble EJfence finds his houfe 
Sickly and loofe, 
He, ever young, doth wing 
Unto that fpring, 
And fource of fpirits, where he takes his lot, 

Till time no more mail rot 
His paflive Cottage ; which (though laid afide,) 
Like fome fpruce Bride, 
•Shall one day rife, and cloath'd with mining light 
All pure, and bright, 
Re-marry to the foule, for 'tis moll plaine 
Thou only fal'fl to be refin'd againe. 

3- 

Then I that here faw darkly in a glaffe 

But mills and ihadows pafTe, 



io SILEX SCINTILLJNS 

And, by their owne weake Shine, did fearch the 
And Courfe of things, [fprings 
Shall with Inlightned Rayes 

Pierce all their wayes ; 
And as thou faw'ft, I in a thought could goe 

To heav'n or Earth below 
To reade fome Starre, or Min'rall, and in State 
There often fate ; 
So flialt thou then with me, 

Both wing'd and free, 
Rove in that mighty and eternall light, 

Where no rude made, or night 
Shall dare approach us ; we mall there no more 
Watch ftars, or pore 
Through melancholly clouds, and fay, 
Would it were Day ! 
One everlafting Sabotb there mail runne 
Without SucceJJlon, and without a Sunne. 

Dan. cap. 12. ver. 13. 
But goe thou thy way untill the end be, for thou 
Jhalt reft, and ft and up in thy lot, at the end of the 
dayes. 

Day of Judgement, 

# 

Hen through the North a fire mall rum 
And rowle into the Eaft, 
And like a firie torrent brum 

And fweepe up South and Weft, — 

When all mail ftreame and lighten round, 

And with furprizing flames 




OR SACRED POEMS. n 

Both liars and Elements confound, 

And quite blot out their names, — 

When thou fhalt fpend thy facred ftore 

Of thunders in that heate, 

And low as ere they lay before 

Thy iix-dayes' building beate, — 

When like a fcrowle the heavens fhall pafTe 
And vaniih cleane away, 

And nought mull Hand of that vail fpace 

Which held up night and day, — 

When one lowd blall fhall rend the deepe, 

And from the wombe of earth 

Summon up all that are afleepe 

Unto a fecond birth, — 

When thou lhalt make the Clouds thy feate, 

And in the open aire 
The Quick and dead, both fmall and great, 

Mull to thy barre repaire ; 

O then it will be all too late 

To fay, What Jhall I doe ? 
Repentance there is out of date, 

And fo is mercy too. 

Prepare, prepare me then, O God ! 

And let me now begin 
To feele my loving father's Rod 

Killing the man of finne ! 

Give me, O give me CrolTes here, 

Still more afflictions lend ! 



12 SILEX SGINT1LLANS 

That pill, though bitter, is moll deare 
That brings health to the end. 

Lord, God J I beg nor friends, nor wealth, 

But pray againft them both ; 
Three things Tde have, my foule's chief health. 

And one of thefe femes loath, 

A living FAITH, a HEAR T of flefh, 

The WORLD an Enemie; 
This laft will keepe the firfl two frefh, 

And bring me where I'de be. 

i Pet. 4. 7. 
The end of all things is at hand ; be ye therefore 
sober , and watch unto prayer* 



Religion. 

Y God, when I walke in thofe groves 
And leaves thy Spirit doth ftill fan, 
I fee in each fhade that there growes 
An Angell talking with a man. 



Under a Jumper fome houfe, 
Or the coole Mirth's canopie, 
Others beneath an Oake's green boughs, 
Or at fome fount aine's bubling Eye. 

Here Jacob dreames, and wreftles ; there 
Elias is by Ravens fed, 
Another time by th > Angell, where 
He brings him water with his bread. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 13 

In Abraham' *s Tent the winged guefts 
(O how familiar then was heaven !) 
Eate, drinke, difcourfe, fit downe, and reft 
Until the Coole, and fhady Even. 

Nay thou thy felfe, my God, in fire, 
Whirle-winds-y and Clouds, and the foft voice, 
Speak'ft there fo much, that I admire 
We have no Conference in thefe daies. 

Is the truce broke? or 'caufe we have 
A Mediatour now with thee, 
Doft thou therefore old Treaties wave, 
And by appeales from him decree h 

Or is't fo, as fbme green heads fay, 
That now all miracles muft ceafe ? 
Though thou haft promis'd they mould ftay, 
The tokens of the Church, and peace. 

No, no ; Religion is a Spring, 
That from fome fecret, golden Mine 
Derives her birth,, and thence doth bring 
Cordials in every drop, and Wine. 

But in her long, and hidden Courfe, 
In paffing through the Earth's darke veines, 
Growes ftill from better unto worfe, 
And both her tafte and colour ftaines ; 

Then drilling on learnes to encreafe 
Falfe Eccboes and Confufed founds, 
And unawares doth often feize 
On veines of Sulphur under ground ; 



14 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

So poifon'd breaks forth in fome Clime, 
And at firft fight doth many pleafe ; 
But drunk, is puddle or meere flime, 
And 'Head of Phifick, a difeafe. 

Juft fuch a tainted link we have, 
Like that Samaritan's dead well; 
For mull we for the Kernell crave 
Becaufe moll voices like the Jbell? 

Heale then thefe waters, Lord ; or bring thy flock, 
Since thefe are troubled, to the fpringing rock ; 
Looke downe great Mailer of the feall ; O mine, 
And turn once more our Water into Wine ! 

Cant. cap. 4. ver. 12. 

My fifter, my fpoufe is as a garden Inclofed, as a 
Spring Jbut up y and a fountain fealed. 



The Search. 

&Is now cleare day : I fee a Rofe 
Bud in the bright Eall, and difclofe 
The Pilgrim-Sun ne ; all night have I 
Spent in a roving Extafie 
To find my Saviour ; I have been 
As far as Betblem, and have feen 
His Inne and Cradle ; Being there 
I met the Wife- Men, alkt them where 
He might be found, or what llarre can 
Now point him out, grown up a Man ? 




OR SACRED POEMS. 15 

To Egypt hence I fled, ran o're 
All her parcht bofome to Nile's fhore, 
Her yearly nurfe ; came back, enquir'd 
Amongft the DocJors, and deflr'd 
To fee the Temple, but was fliown 
A little dull, and for the Town 
A heap of aihes, where fome fed 
A fmall bright fparkle was a bed, 
Which would one day beneath the pole, 
Awake, and then refine the whole. 

Tyr'd here, I came to Sychar ; thence 
To Jacob's welly bequeathed fince 
Unto his fonnes, where often they 
In thofe calme, golden Evenings lay 
Watring their flocks, and having fpent 
Thofe white dayes, drove home to the Tent 
Their well-fleeced traine ; And here (O fate !) 
I fit, where once my Saviour fate. 
The angry Spring in bubbles fwell'd, 
Which broke in fighes ftill, as they fill'd > 
And whifper'd, J ejus had been there, 
But Jacob's children would not heare. 
Loath hence to part, at laft I rife 
But with the fountain in mine Eyes, 
And here a frefh fearch is decreed ; 
He muft be found where he did bleed. 
I walke the garden, and there fee 
I da as of his Agonie, 
And moving anguifhments, that fet 
His bleft face in a bloudy fweat ; 
I climbed the Hill, perus'd the Croffe, 
Hung with my gaine, and his great loiTe : 
Never did tree beare fruit like this, 
Balfam of foules, the bodye's bliffe. 



i6 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

But, O his grave ! where I faw lent 

(For he had none,) a Monument, 

An undefil'd, a new-hew'd one, 

But there was not the Comer-ftone. 

Sure then, faid I, my Queft is vaine, 

Hee'le not be found where he was flaine ; 

So mild a Lamb can never be 

'Midft fo much bloud and Crueltie. 

Fie to the wildernefs, and can 

Find beafts more mercifull than man ; 

He livM there fafe, 'twas his retreat 

From the fierce Jew, and Herod's heat ; 

And forty dayes withflood the fell, 

And high temptations of hell ; 

With Seraphins there talked he, 

His father's flaming miniftrie ; 

He heav'nd their walks, and with his eyes 

Made thofe wild fhades a Paradife. 

Thus was- the defert fan&ified 

To be the refuge of his bride. 

Fie thither then ; fee, It is day ! 

The Sun's broke through to guide my way. 

But as I urg'd thus, and writ down 
What pleafures mould my Journey crown. 
What filent paths, what fhades, and Cells, 
Faire, virgin-flowers, and hallow'd Wells 
I fhould rove in, and reft my head 
Where my deare Lord did often tread, 
Sugring all dangers with fuccefle, 
Methought I heard one finging thus ; 



Leave, leave thy gadding thoughts; 
Who pores 



OR SACRED POEMS. 17 

and fpies 
Still out of Doores, 

defcries 
Within them nought. 

2. 

The fkinne and fhell of things. 

Though faire, 

are not 
Thy wifh, nor Pray'r, 

but got 
By meere Defpaire 

of wings. 

3- 

To rack old Elements, 
Or Dull; 
and fay, 
Sure here he muft 

needs flay, 
Is not the way, 
nor Juil. 

Search well another world ; who fludies this, 
Travels in Clouds, feekes Manna where none is. 

A&s Cap. 17. ve. 27, 28. 

That they Jbould feeke the Lord, if happily they 
might feele after him, and find him, though he be 
not far off from every one of us, for in him we live, 
and move, and have our being. 




18 SILEX SCINTILLANS 



Ifaac's Marriage. 

Gen. cap. 24. vet*. 63. 

And Ifaac went out to pray in the field at the 
Even-tide, and he lift up his eyes, and Jaw, and be- 
hold, the Camels were comming. 

? Raying ! and to be married ! It was rare, 
But now 'tis monftrous ; and that pious 

care, 
Though of ourfelves, is fo much out of 
That to renew't were to degenerate. [date, 

But thou a Chofen facrifice wert given, 
And offer'd up fo early unto heaven, 
Thy flames could not be out ; Religion was 
Ray'd into thee like beames into a glafle, 
Where, as thou grewft, it multiply'd, and fhin'd 
The facred Conftellation of thy mind. 

But being for a bride, fure, prayer was 
Very ftrange fluffe wherewith to court thy lafTe ; 
Had'ft ne'r an oath, nor Complement ? thou wert 
An odde, coarfe futor; Hadft thou but the art 
Of thefe our dayes, thou couldft have coyn'd thee 

twenty 
New fev'rall oathes, and Complements too plenty. 
O fad, and wild excefTe ! and happy thofe 
White dayes, that durft no impious mirth expofe ! 
When finne, by finning oft, had not loft fence, 
Nor bold-fac'd cuftome banifh'd Innocence ! 
Thou hadft no pompous traine, nor An tick crowd 
Of young, gay fwearers, with their needlefs, lowd 



OR SACRED POEMS. 19 

Retinue ; All was here fmooth as thy bride, 
And calme like her, or that mild Evening-tide. 
Yet hadft thou nobler guefts : Angels did wind, 
And rove about thee, guardians of thy mind ; 
Thefe fetch' d thee home thy bride, and all the way. 
Advis'd thy fervant what to doe and fay ; 
Thefe taught him at the Well, and thither brought 
The Chafte and lovely object of thy thought. 
But here was ne'r a Complement, not one 
Spruce, fupple cringe, or ftudy'd looke put on. 
All was plaine, modeft truth : Nor did fhe come 
In rowles and Curies, mincing and {lately dumbe ; 
But in a frighted, virgin-blufh approach'd 
Frefh as the morning, when 'tis newly Coach'd. 
O fweet, divine fimplicity ! O grace 
Beyond a Curled lock, or painted face ! 
A Pitcher too fhe had, nor thought it much 
To carry that, which fome would fcorn to touch ; 
With which in mild, chafte language fhe did wooe 
To draw him drinke, and for his Camels too. 

And now thou knewft her comming, It was time 
To get thee wings on, and devoutly climbe 
Unto thy God ; for Marriage of all ftates 
Makes moft unhappy, or moft fortunates. 
This brought thee forth, where now thou didft un- 

dreffe 
Thy foule, and with new pinions refrefh 
Her wearied wings, which fo reftor'd did flye 
Above the ftars, a track unknown and high ; 
And in her piercing flight perfum'd the ayre, 
Scatt'ring the Myrrhe and Incenfe of thy pray'r. 
So from *Lahai-rois Well fome fpicie cloud, 

* A wet in the South Country ivhere Jacob divelt, betvoeene 
Cadefh, &f Bered 5 Heb. the ivel of him that liveth and Jeeth me. 



20 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Woo'd by the Sun, fwels up to be his fhrowd, 
And from her moift wombe weeps a fragrant fhowre, 
Which, fcatter'd in a thoufand pearls, each flowre 
And herb partakes ; where having flood awhile 
And fomething coold the parch'd and thirftie Ifle, 
The thankfull Earth unlocks her felfe, and blends 
A thoufand odours, which, all mixt, fhe fends 
Up in one cloud, and fo returnes the Ikies 
That dew they lent, a breathing facrifice. 

Thus foar'd thy foul, who, though young, didft in- 
herit 
Together with his bloud thy father's fpirit, 
Whofe adtive zeale and tryed faith were to thee 
Familiar ever fince thy Infancie. 
Others were tym'd and train'd up to't, but thou 
Didft thy fwift years in piety out-grow. 
Age made them rev'rend, and a fnowie head, 
But thou wert fo, e're time his fnow could fhed. 
Then, who would truly limne thee out, muft paint 
Firft a young Patriarch, then a marry d Saint. 



The Brittifh Church. 

iK ! he is fled ! 

And while thefe here their mifts and 
jhadowes hatch, 
My glorious Head 
Doth on thofe hills of Myrrhe and Incenfe watch. 
Hafte, hafte, my deare ! 
The Souldiers here 
Caft in their lotts againe. 
That feamlefs coat, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 21 

The Iewes touch'd not, 
Thefe dare divide and flaine* 



O get thee wings ! 
Or if as yet, untill thefe clouds depart* 

And the day fprings, 
Thou think'ft it good to tarry where thou art, 

Write in thy bookes 

My ravifh'd looks. 
Slain flock and pillag'd fleeces, 

And hafte thee fo 

As a young Roe 
Upon the mounts of fpices. 

Rofa Camp if O lilium Gonv allium ! quomodb nunc 
facia es pabulum Aprorum! 



The Lampe. 




*Is dead night round about : Horrour doth 
creepe 
And move on with the fliades ; ftars nod 
and fleepe, 

And through the dark aire fpin a firie thread, 
Such as doth gild the lazie glow-worm's bed. 

Yet burn'ft thou here a full day, while I fpend 
My reft in Cares, and to the dark world lend 
Thefe flames, as thou doll thine to me ; I watch 
That houre, which mull thy life and mine difpatch. 
But Hill thou doeft out-goe me, I can fee 
Met in thy flames all adls of piety ; 



22 SILEX SCINTILLJNS 

Thy light, is Charity / Thy heat, is Zeale ; 

And thy afpiring, active fires reveale 

Devotion Hill on wing ; Then, thou doll weepe 

Still as thou burn'ft, and the warme droppings creepe 

To meafure out thy length, as if thou'dft know 

What Hock, and how much time were left thee now ; 

Nor doft thou fpend one teare in vain, for Hill 

As thou dhTolv'fr. to them, and they diftill, 

They're ftor'd up in the focket, where they lye, 

When all is fpent, thy laft and fure fupply : 

And fuch is true repentance ; ev'ry breath 

Wee fpend in flghes is treafure after death. 

Only one point efcapes thee ; That thy Oile 

Is ftill out with thy flame, and fo both faile ; 

But whenfoe're I'm out, both fhal be in, 

And where thou mad'ft an end, there Pie begin. 

Mark Cap. 13. ver. 35. 

Watch you therefore, for you know not when the 
mafter of the houfe cometh, at Even, or at mid-night, 
or at the Cock-crowing, or in the morning. 



Mans fall, and Recovery. 

\ Arewell, you Everlafting hills ! I'm Caft 
Here under Clouds, where ftormes and 

tempefts blaft 
This fully'd flowre, 
Rob'd of your Calme, nor can I ever make, 
Tranfplanted thus, one leafe of his t'awake ; 

But ev'ry houre 
He fleepes and droops ; and in this drowfle ftate 




OR SACRED POEMS. 23 

Leaves me a Have to paflions and my fate. 

Befides I've loft 
A traine of lights, which in thofe Sun-fhine dayes 
Were my fure guides, and only with me ftayes, 

Unto my coft, 
One fullen beame, whofe charge is to difpenfe 
More punifhment than knowledge to my fenfe. 

Two thoufand yeares 
I fojourn'd thus. At laft Jejhururts King 
Thofe famous tables did from Sinai bring. 

Thefe fwell'd my feares, 
Guilts, trefpafTes, and all this Inward Awe ; 
For fmne tooke ftrength, and vigour from the Law. 

Yet have I found 
A plenteous way, (thanks to that Holy One !) 
To cancell all that e're was writ in ftone. 

His faving wound 
Wept bloud, that broke this Adamant, and gave 
To iinners Confidence, life to the grave. 

This makes me fpan 
My fathers' journeys, and in one faire ftep 
O're all their pilgrimage and labours leap. 

For God, made man, 
Reduc'd th' Extent of works of faith ; fo made 
Of their Red Sea a Spring ; I warn, they wade. 



Rom. Cap. 18. ver. 19. 

As by the offence of one y the fault came on all men 
to condemnation ; So by the Right eoufnefs of one, the 
benefit abounded towards all men to the J unification 
of life. 




24 SILEX SCINTILLANS 



The Showre, 

^Was fo ; I faw thy birth. That drowfie 
Lake 
From her faint bofome breath'd thee, 
the difeafe 
Of her fick waters, and Infe&ious Eafe. 
But now at Even, 
Too groffe for heaven, 
Thou falPft in teares, and weep'fl: for thy miftake. 



Ah ! it is fo with me ; oft have I preft 
Heaven with a lazie breath ; but fruitles this 
Peirc'd not ; Love only can with quick acceile 
Unlock the way, 
When all elfe ftray, 
The fmoke and Exhalations of the breft. 

3- 

Yet if, as thou doeft melt, and with thy traine 
Of drops make foft the Earth, my eyes could weep 
O're my hard heart, that's bound up and afleep ; 
Perhaps at laft, 
Some fuch fhowres paft, 
My God would give a Sun-fhine after raine. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 25 



Diftra&ion. 

Knit me, that am crumbled duft ! the 
heape 

Is all difpers'd and cheape ; 
Give for a handfull but a thought, 
And it is bought. 
Hadft thou 
Made me a ftarre, a pearle, or a rain-bow, 
The beames I then had mot 
My light had lefTend not ; 
But now 
I find my felfe the lefle the more I grow. 

The world 
Is full of voices ; Man is call'd, and hurl'd 
By each ; he anfwers all, 
Knows ev'ry note and call ; 
Hence "ftill 
Frefh dotage tempts, or old ufurps his will. 
Yet hadft thou dipt my wings, when Cofftn'd in 
This quicken'd marie of finne, 
And faved that light, which freely thou 
Didft then bellow, 
I feare 
I mould have fpurn'd, and faid thou didft forbeare, 
Or that thy ftore was lefTe. 
But now fince thou didft blefle 
So much, 
I grieve, my God ! that thou haft made me fuch. 

I grieve ? 
O, yes ! thou know'ft I doe ; Come, and releive, 



26 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

And tame, and keepe downe with thy light, 
Dull that would rife and dimme my fight ! 
Left left alone too long 
Amidft the noife and throng, 
OpprefTed I, 
Striving to fave the whole, by parcells dye. 



The Purfuite. 

\ Ord ! what a bufie, reftlefs thing 

Haft thou made man ! 
Each day and houre he is on wing, 

Refts not a fpan. 
Then having loft the Sunne and light, 

By clouds furpriz'd, 
He keepes a Commerce in the night 

With aire difguis'd. 
Hadft thou given to this active dull 

A ftate untir'd, 
The loft Sonne had not left the hufke, 

Nor home dehYd. 
That was thy fecret, and it is 

Thy mercy too ; 
For when all failes to bring to bliiTe, 

Then this muft doe. 
Ah ! Lord ! and what a Purchafe will that be, 
To take us iick, that found would not take thee ! 





OR SACRED POEMS. 27 



Mount of Olives. 

f Weete, facred hill ! on whofe fair brow 
My Saviour fate, fhall I allow 

Language to love 
And Idolize fome fhade or grove, 
Neglecting thee ? fuch ill-plac'd wit, 
Conceit, or call it what you pleafe, 
Is the braine's fit, 
And meere difeafe. 

2. 
Cotfwold, and Cooper's both have met 
With learned fwaines, and Eccho yet 

Their pipes, and wit ; 
But thou fleep'ft in a deepe neglect, 
Untouch' d by any; And what need 
The iheep bleat thee a filly Lay, 

That heard'ft both reed 

And fheepward play ? 

3- 
Yet if Poets mind thee well, 
They fhall find thou art their hill, 

And fountaine too. 
Their Lord with thee had mod to doe. 
He wept once, waked whole nights on thee : 
And from thence (his fufFerings ended,) 

Unto glorie 

Was attended. 



28 SILEX SCINT1LLJNS 

4- 

Being there, this fpacious ball 
Is but his narrow footftoole all ; 

And what we thinke 

Unfearchable, now with one winke 

He doth comprife. But in this aire 

When he did ftay to beare our 111 

And finne, this Hill 

Was then his Chaire. 



The Incarnation, and Paffion. 

Ord ! when thou didft thyfelfe undreffe, 
Laying by thy robes of glory, 
To make us more thou wouldft be lefTe, 
And becam'ft a wofull flory. 

To put on Clouds inftead of light, 
And cloath the morning-ftarre with dull, 
Was a tranflation of fuch height 
As, but in thee, was ne'r expreft. 

Brave wormes and Earth! that thus could have 
A God Enclos'd within your Cell, 
Your maker pent up in a grave, 
Life lockt in death, heav'n in a fhell ! 

Ah, my deare Lord ! what couldft thou fpye 
In this impure, rebellious clay, 
That made thee thus refolve to dye 
For thofe that kill thee every day ? 









OR SACRED POEMS. 

O what ftrange wonders could thee move 
To flight thy precious bloud, and breath ? 
Sure it was Love, my Lord ; for Love 
Is only ftronger far than death ! 



The Call. 

J Ome, my heart ! come, my head, 
In fighes, and teares ! 
'Tis now, fince you have laine thus dead, 
Some twenty years. 
Awake, awake, 
Some pitty take 
Upon your felves ! 
Who never wake to grone nor weepe, 
Shall be fentenc'd for their fleepe. 



Doe but fee your fad ellate, 
How many fands 
Have left us, while we careles fate 
With folded hands ; 
What Hock of nights, 
Of dayes, and yeares 
In iilent flights 
Stole by our eares ; 
How ill have we our felves beftow'd, 
Whofe funs are all fet in a Cloud ! 

3; 

Yet, come, and let's perufe them all ; 
And as we paife, 




30 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

What fins on every minute fall 

Score on the glaffe ; 
Then weigh and rate 
Their heavy State, 
Untill 
The glafle with teares you fill ; 
That done, we fhall be fafe and good, 
Thofe beafts were cleane that chew'd the Cud. 



f 

?Hou that know'ft for whom I mourne, 
And why thefe teares appeare, 
That keep'ft account till the returne 
Of all his duft left here ; 
As eafily thou mightft prevent, 

As now produce, thefe teares, 
And adde unto that day he went 

A faire fupply of yeares. 
But 'twas my fmne that forcM thy hand 

To cull this Prim-rofe out 9 
That by thy early choice forewarn'd 

My foule might looke about. 
O what a vanity is man ! 

How like the Eye's quick winke 
His Cottage failes, whofe narrow fpan 

Begins even at the brink ! 
Nine months thy hands are fafhioning us, 

And many yeares alas ! 
E're we can lifp, or ought difcufle 

Concerning thee, mull paffe ; 
Yet have I knowne thy flighteft things, 

A feather y or ajhell, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 31 

A flick, or Rod, which fome Chance brings, 

The beft of us excell. 
Yea, I have knowne thefe fhreds out laft 

A faire-compacled frame, 
And for one Twenty we have pall 

Almoft outlive our name. 
Thus haft thou plac'd in man's outfide 

Death to the Common Eye, 
That heaven within him might abide, 

And clofe eternitie. 
Hence youth and folly, man's firft fhame, 

Are put unto the Slaughter, 
And ferious thoughts begin to tame 

The wife-man's madnefs, Laughter. 
Dull, wretched wormes ! that would not keepe 

Within our firft faire bed, 
But out of Paradife muft creepe 
For ev'ry foote to tread ! 
Yet had our Pilgrimage bin free, 

And fmooth without a thorne, 
Pleafures had foil'd Eternitie, 

And tares had choakt the Come. 
Thus by the CrofTe Salvation runnes ; 

Affliction is a mother, 
Whofe painfull throes yield many fons, 

Each fairer than the other. 
A filent teare can peirce thy throne, 

When lowd Joyes want a wing ; 
And fweeter aires ftreame from a grone, 

Than any arted ftring. 
Thus, Lord, I fee my gaine is great, 

My loiTe but little to it ; 
Yet fomething more I muft intreate, 
And only thou canft doe it. 



32 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

O let me, like him, know my End, 

And be as glad to find it ! 
And whatfoe'r thou malt Commend, 

Still let thy fervant mind it ! 
Then make my foule white as his owne, 

My faith as pure and fteddy, 
And deck me, Lord, with the fame Crowne 

That has crownd him already ! 



Vanity of Spirit. 

Uite fpent with thoughts I left my Cell, 

and lay 
\ Where a fhrill fpring tun'd to the early day. 
• I beg'd here long, and gron'd to know 

Who gave the Clouds fo brave a bow, 

Who bent the fpheres, and circled in 

Corruption with this glorious Ring ; 

What is his name, and how I might 

Defcry fome part of his great light. 
I fummon'd nature ; peirc'd through all her ftore ; 
Broke up fome feales ,which none had touch'd before ; 

Her wombe, her bofome, and her head, 

Where all her fecrets lay a bed, 

I rifled quite, and having paft 

Through all the Creatures, came at laft 

To fearch myfelfe, where I did find 

Traces, and founds of a flrange kind. 
Here of this mighty fpring I found fome drills, 
With Ecchoes beaten from th' eternall hills. 

Weake beames and fires flafh'd to my fight, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 33 

Like a young Earl, or Moone-fhine night, 
Wich fhew'd me in a nook caft by 
A peece of much antiquity, 
With Hyerogliphicks quite difmembred, 
And broken letters fcarce remembred. 
I tooke them up, and, much Joy'd, went about 
T' unite thofe peeces, hoping to find out 
The myftery ; but this near done, 
That little light I had was gone. 
It griev'd me much. At laft, faid I, 
Since in tbefe veyls my Ecclips'd Eye 
May not approach thee, (for at night 
Who can have commerce with the light ?) 
Pie difapparell, and to buy 
But one half glaunce moft gladly dye. 



The Retreate. 

|Appy thofe early dayes, when I 
Shin'd in my Angell-infancy ! 
Before I underftood this place 
Appointed for my fecond race, 
Or taught my foul to fancy ought 
But a white, Celeftiall thought; 
When yet I had not walkt above 
A mile or two from my firft love, 
And looking back, at that fhort fpace, 
Could fee a glimpfe of his bright-face ; 
When on fome gilded Cloud or flow re 
My gazing foul would dwell an houre* 
And in thofe weaker glories fpy 

D 




34 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Some fhadows of eternity ; 
Before I taught my tongue to wound 
My Confcience with a finfull found, 
Or had the black art to difpence 
A fev'rall linne to ev'ry fence, 
But felt through all this flefhly drefTe 
Bright Jhootes of everlaftingneffe. 
O how I long to travell back, 
And tread again that ancient track ! 
That I might once more reach that plaine, 
Where firft I left my glorious traine ; 
From whence th' Inlightned fpirit fees 
That fhady City of Palme trees. 
But ah ! my foul with too much ftay 
Is drunk, and flaggers in the way ! 
Some men a forward motion love, 
But I by backward fteps would move ; 
And when this dull falls to the urn, 
In that ftate I came return. 



Ome, come ! what doe I here ? 

Since he is gone 
Each day is grown a dozen year, 

And each houre one. 

Come, come ! 
Cut off the fum 
By thefe foil'd tears ! 
(Which only thou 
Know'ft to be true,) 
Dayes are my feares. 





OR SACRED POEMS. 35 

2. 

There's not a wind can ftir, 

Or beam pafle by, 
But flrait I think, though far. 

Thy hand is nigh. 

Come, come ! 
Strike thefe lips dumb : 
This reftlefs breath, 
That foiles thy name, 
Will ne'r be tame 
Untill in death. 

3- 

Perhaps fome think a tombe 
No houfe of ftore, 
But a dark, feal'd up wombe, 

Which ne'r breeds more. 
Come, come ! 
Such thoughts benum. 
But I would be 
With him I weep 
A-bed, and fleep 
To wake in thee. 



f Midnight. 

Hen to my Eyes, 
Whilft deep fleep others catches, 

Thine hoft of fpyes, 
The ftarres, fhine in their watches, 

I doe furvey 

Each bufie Ray, 



36 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

And how they work and wind, 

And wifh each beame 

My foul doth ftream 
With the like ardour fhin'd. 

What Emanations, 

Quick vibrations, 
And bright ftirs are there ! 

What thin Ejections, 

Cold Affections, 
And flow motions here ! 

z. 

Thy heav'ns, fome fay, 
Are a fine-liquid light, 

Which mingling aye 
Streames and flames thus to the fight. 

Come then, my God ! 

Shine on this bloud 
And water in one beame; 

And thou flialt fee 

Kindled by thee 
Both liquors burne and ftreame. 

O what bright quicknefs, 

Active brightnefs, 
And celeftiall flowes, 

Will follow after 

On that water, 
Which thy Spirit blowes ! 

Math. Cap. 3. ver. xi. 

/ indeed baptize you with water unto repentance, but 
he that commeth after me, is mightier than I ; 
whofe Jhooes I am not worthy to be are ; he Jhall 
baptize you with the holy Ghoft, and with fire. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 37 



^[ Content, 

Eace, peace ! I know 'twas brave ; 
But this coarfe fleece, 
I fhelter in, is flave 
To no fuch peece. 
When I am gone, 
I mail no wardrobes leave 

To friend or fonne, 
But what their own homes weave. , 



Such, though not proud nor full, 

May make them weep, 
And mourn to fee the wooll 

Outlaft the iheep ; 

Poore, Pious weare ! 
Hadft thou bin rich, or fine, 

Perhaps that teare 
Had mourn'd thy loffe, not mine. 

3- 

Why then thefe curl'd, puffed points, 

Or a laced ftory ? 
Death fets all out of Joint, 

And fcornes their glory. 

Some Love a Rofe 
In hand, fome in the fkin ; 

But, crofle to thofe, 
I would have mine within. 




38 SILEX SCINTILLANS 



f 

Oy of my life while left me here ! 
And frill my Love ! 
How in thy abfence thou doft fteere 
Me from above ! 
A life well lead * 

This truth commends, 
With quick or dead 
It never ends. 



2. 
Stars are of mighty ufe : The night 

Is dark, and long ; 
The Rode foul ; and where one goes right, 

Six may go wrong. 

One twinkling ray, 

Shot o'er fome cloud, 

May clear much way, 

And guide a croud. 

3- 

Gods Saints are mining lights : who flays 

Here long mull pafle 
O're dark hills, fwift flreames, and fteep ways 

As fmooth as glaffe ; 

But thefe all night, 

Like Candles, fhed 

Their beams, and light 

Us into Bed. 

4- 

They are indeed our Pillar-fires, 
Seen as we go ; 




OR SACRED POEMS. 39 

They are that Citie's fhining fpires 
We travel 1 to. 
A fwordlike gleame 
Kept man from fin 
Firil Out ; This beame 
Will guide him In. 



The Storm. 

See the ufe : and know my bloud 

Is not a Sea, 
But a mallow, bounded floud, 
Though red as he ; 
Yet have I flows as flrong as his, 
And boyling flremes that rave 
With the fame curling force and hhTe, 
As doth the mountained wave. 

2. 
But when his waters billow thus, 

Dark florins and wind 
Incite them to that fierce difcufle, 

Elfe not Inclin'd. 
Thus the Enlarg'd, inraged air 

Uncalmes thefe to a floud ; 
But ftill the weather that's moil fair 

Breeds tempeils in my bloud. 

3- 

Lord, round me then with weeping Clouds, 

And let my mind 
In quick blafls figh beneath thofe flirouds, 

A fpirit-wind ; 




4 o SILEX SCINTILLANS 

So fhall that ftorme purge this Reclufe 
Which iinfull eafe made foul, 

And wind and water to thy ufe 

Both wajhy and wing my foul. 



The Morning- watch. 

Joyes ! Infinite fweetnefs ! with what 

flowres 
And lhoots of glory my foul breakes and 

buds ! 
All the long houres 
Of night arid Reft, 
Through the ftill fhrouds 
Of fleep and Clouds, 
This Dew fell on my Breaft ; 
O how it Blonds, 
And Spirits all my Earth ! heark ! In what Rings, 
And Hymning Circulations the quick world 
Awakes and lings ! 
The rifing winds, 
And falling fprings, 
Birds, beafts, all things 
Adore him in their kinds. 
Thus all is hurl'd 
In facred Hy nines and Order, the great Chime 
And Symphony of nature. Prayer is 
The world in tune, 
A fpirit-voyce, 
And vocall joyes, 
Whofe Eccho is heav'ns blhTe. 
O let me climbe 



OR SACRED POEMS. 41 

When I lye down ! The Pious foul by night 

Is like a clouded ilarre, whofe beames, though faid 

To fhed their light 

Under fome Cloud, 

Yet are above, 

And fhine and move 
Beyond that miflie flirowd. 

So in my Bed, 
That Curtain'd grave, though fleep, like afhes, hide 
My lamp and life, both fhall in thee abide. 



The Evening-watch. 

A Dialogue. 

Body, 
Arewell ! I goe to fleep ; but when 
The day- liar fp rings, Fie wake agen. 

Soul. 

Goe, fleep in peace ; and when thou lyefl 
Unnumber'd in thy dull, when all this frame 
Is but one dramme, and what thou now defcrieft 

In fev'rall parts fhall want a name, 
Then may his peace be with thee, and each dull 
Writ in his book, who ne'r betray'd man's trull ! 

Body. 

Amen ! but hark, eer we two flray, 
How many hours doll think 'till day ? 

Soul. 
Ah ! go ; thou'rt weak, and fleepie. Heav'n 





42 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Is a plain watch, and without figures winds 
All ages up ; who drew this Circle, even 

He, ills it ; Dayes and hours are Blinds. 
Yet this take with thee ; The laft gafp of time 
Is thy firft breath, and man's eternall Prime. 

f 

Hence and ftealth of dayes ! 'tis now, 

Since thou art gone, 
Twelve hundred houres, and not a brow 

But Clouds hang on. 
As he that in fome Cave's thick damp, 

Lockt from the light, 
Fixeth a folitary lamp, 

To brave the night, 
And walking from his Sun, when paft 

That glim'ring Ray, 
Cuts through the heavy mills in hafte 

Back to his day ; 
So o'er fled minutes I retreat 

Unto that hour, 
Which ihew'd thee laft, but did defeat 

Thy light and pow'r. 
I fearch, and rack my foul to fee 

Thofe beams again ; 
But nothing but the muff to me 

Appeareth plain. 
That, dark and dead, flee}, s in its known, 

And common urn • 
But thofe, fled to their Maker's throne, 

There fhine and burn. 
O could I track them ! but fouls muft 




OR SACRED POEMS. 43 

Track one the other ; 
And now the fpirit, not the duft, 

Muft be thy brother. 
Yet I have one Pearle, by whofe light 

All things I fee ; 
And in the heart of Earth and night 

Find Heaven, and thee. 



Church-Service. 

Left be the God of Harmony and Love ! 
The God above ! 
And holy Dove ! 
Whofe Interceding, fpirituall grones 
Make reftlefs mones 
For duft and ftones ; 
For duft in every part, 
But a hard, ftonie heart. 



Q how in this thy Quire of Souls I ftand, 
Propt by thy hand, 
A heap of fand ! 
Which bulie thoughts, like winds, would fcatter quite, 
And put to flight, 
But for thy might ; 
Thy hand alone doth tame 
Thofe blafts, and knit my frame ; 

3- 
So that both ftones and duft, and all of me 
Joyntly agree 
To cry to thee ; 




44 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

And in this Mufick, by thy Martyrs* bloud 
Seal'd and made good, 
Prefent, O God, 
The Eccho of thefe ftones, 
My fighes, and grones ! 



Buriall. 

Thou ! the firft fruits of the dead, 

And their dark bed, 
When I am caft into that deep 
And fenfelefs fleep, 
The wages of my finne, 
O then, 
Thou great Preferver of all men, 
Watch o're that loofe 
And empty houfe, 
Which I fometimes liv'd in ! 

2. 
It is in truth a ruin'd peece, 

Not worth thy Eyes ; 
And fcarce a room, but wind and rain 
Beat through and ftain 
The feats, and Cells within ; 
Yet thou 
Led by thy Love wouldfl Hoop thus low, 
And in this Cott, 
All filth and fpott, 
Didfl with thy fervant Inne. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 45 

3- 

And nothing can, I hourely fee, 

Drive thee from me. 
Thou art the fame, faithfull and juft, 
In life or Duft. 
Though then thus crumm'd I ftray 
In blafts, 
Or Exhalations, and wafts, 
Beyond all Eyes 
Yet thy love fpies 
That Change, and knows thy Clay. 

4- 

The world's thy boxe : how then, there toft, 

Can I be loft? 
But the delay is all ; Tyme now 
Is old and flow ; 
His wings are dull and iickly. 
Yet he 
Thy fervant is, and waits on thee. 
Cutt then the fumme, 
Lord, hafte, Lord, come, 
O come, Lord Jefus, quickly ! 

Rom. Cap. 8. ver. 23. 

And not only they, but our f elves alfo, which have 
the fir ft fruits of the fpirit, even wee our f elves gr one 
within our felves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, 
the redemption of our body. 




46 SILEX SCINTILLANS 



Chearfulnefs. 

Ord, with what courage and delight 
I doe each thing, 
When thy leaft breath fuftaines my wing ! 
I fhine and move 
Like thofe above, 
And, with much gladnefle 
Quitting fadneffe, 
Make me faire dayes of every night. 

2. 

Affliction thus meere pleafure is ; 

And hap what will, 
If thou be in't, 'tis welcome ftill. 

But fince thy rayes 

In Sunnie dayes 

Thou doll thus lend, 

And freely fpend, 
Ah ! what mall I return for this ? 

3- 

O that I were all Soul ! that thou 

Wouldft make each part 
Of this poor finfull frame pure heart ! 

Then would I drown 

My fingle one ; 

And to thy praife 

A Concert raife 
Of Hallelujahs here below. 




OR SJCRED POEMS. 47 



f 

|Ure, there's a tye of Bodyes ! and as they 
DifTolve with it to Clay, 
Love languifheth, and memory doth ruft 
O'r-caft with that cold duft ; 
For things thus Centered, without Beames or Aclion, 

Nor give, nor take C on t a Si ion y 
And man is fuch a Marygold, thefe fled, 
That fhuts, and hangs the head. 



Abfents within the Line Confpire, and Senfe 

Things diflant doth unite ; 
Herbs fleep unto the Eajl, and fome fowles thence 

Watch the Returns of light. 
But hearts are not fo kind : falfe, fhort delights 

Tell us the world is brave, 
And wrap us in Imaginary flights 

Wide of a faithfull grave. 

3. 

Thus Lazarus was carried out of town ; 

For 'tis our foe's chief art 
By diftance all good objeds firfb to drown, 

And then befiege the heart. 
But I will be my own Death's-head; and though 

The flatt'rer fay, / live, 
Becaufe Incertainties we cannot know, 

Be fure not to believe. 




48 SILEX SCINTILLANS 



Peace. 

Y Soul, there is a Countrie 
Afar beyond the ftars. 
Where Hands a winged Sentrie 
All ikilfull in the wars. 
There, above noife and danger, 

Sweet peace fits crown'd with fmiles, 
And one born in a Manger 

Commands the Beauteous files. 
He is thy gracious friend 

And (O my Soul awake !) 
Did in pure love defcend, 

To die here for thy fake. 
If thou canft get but thither, 

There growes the flowre of peace, 
The Rofe that cannot wither, 

Thy fortrefle, and thy eafe. 
Leave then thy foolifh ranges ; 

For none can thee fecure, 
But One, who never changes, 

Thy God, thy Life, thy Cure. 



The Paffion. 

My chief good ! 

My dear, dear God ! 
When thy bleft bloud 
Did iflue forth forc'd by the Rod* 




i 



OR SACRED POEMS. 49 

What pain didft thou 

Feel in each blow ! 

How didft thou weep, 

And thy felf fteep 
In thy own precious, faving teares ! 

What cruell fmart 

Did teare thy heart ! 

How didft thou grone it 

In the fpirit, 
O thou, whom my foul Loves, and feares ! 



Moft bleiTed Vine ! 

Whofe juice fo good 

I feel as Wine, 
But thy faire branches felt as bloud, 

How wert thou preft 

To be my feaft ! 

In what deep anguifh 

Didft thou languifh ! 
What fprings of Sweat and bloud did drown thee ! 

How in one path 

Did the full wrath 

Of thy great Father 

Crowd and gather, 
Doubling thy griefs, when none would own thee ! 

3- 

How did the weight 
Of all our iinnes, 
And death unite 
To wrench and Rack thy bleiTed limbes ! 
How pale> and bloudie 
Lookt thy Body ! 



50 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

How bruis'd, and broke 
With every ftroke ! 

How meek, and patient was thy fpirit ! 
How didft thou cry, 
And grone on high 
Father forgive, 
And let them live ! 

I dye to make my foes inherit ! 

4- 

bleffed Lamb ! 
That took'ft my finne, 
That took'ft my fhame, 

How fhall thy dull thy praifes fmg ? 

1 would I were 
One hearty teare ! 
One conftant fpring ! 
Then would I bring 

Thee two fmall mites, and be at ftrife 

Which mould molt vie, 

My heart, or eye, 

Teaching my years 

In fmiles and tears 
To weep, to fmg, thy Death, my Life. 



Rom. Cap. 8. ver. 19. 

Etenim res Create exerto Capite obferv antes ex- 
pectant revelationem Filiorum Dei. 

Nd do they fo I have they a Senfe 
Of ought but Influence ? 
Can they their heads lift, and expect, 
And grone too ? why th' Eled, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 51 

Can do no more : my volumes faid 
They were all dull, and dead ; 

They judg'd them fenflefTe, and their Mate 
Wholly inanimate. 
Go, go ; Seal up thy looks, 
And burn thy books ! 



I would I were a Hone, or tree, 

Or flowre by pedigree, 
Or fome poor high-way herb, or Spring 

To flow, or bird to fing ! 
Then lhould I, tyed to one fure Hate, 

All day expect my date. 
But I am fadly loofe, and ftray 

A giddy blail each way ; 

O let me not thus range ! 
Thou canft not change. 

3- 

Sometimes I fit with thee, and tarry 
An hour or fo, then vary. 

Thy other Creatures in this Scene 
Thee only aym and mean ; 

Some rife to feek thee, and with heads 
Erect peep from their beds ; 

Others, whofe birth is in the tomb, 
, And cannot quit the womb, 
Sigh there, and grone for thee, 
Their liberty. 



O let not me do lefTe ! fhall they 
Watch, while I fleep or play ? 



52 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Shall I thy mercies ftill abufe 

With fancies, friends, or newes ? 
O brook it not I thy bloud is mine, 

And my foul mould be thine ; 
O brook it not ! why wilt thou Hop 

After whole ihowres one drop ? 

Sure, thou wilt joy to fee 
Thy fheep with thee. 



The Relapfe. 




Y God, how gracious art thou ! I had flipt 
Almoft to hell, 
And on the verge of that dark, dreadful 
pit 
Did hear them yell ; 
But O thy love ! thy rich, almighty love, 

That favM my foul, 
And checkt their furie, when I faw them move, 
And heard them howl ! 

my foule Comfort, take no more thefe wayes 

This hideous path, 
And I will mend my own without delayes, 
Ceafe thou thy wrath ! . 

1 have deferv'd a thick, Egyptian damp, 

Dark as my deeds, 
Should mift within me, and put out that lamp 

Thy fpirit feeds ; 
A darting Confcience full of ftabs and fears ; 

No made but Yewgh, 
Sullen and fad Ecclipfes, Cloudie fpheres, 

Theie are my due. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 53 

But he that with his bloud, (a price too deere,) 

My fcores did pay, 
Bid me, by vertue from him, chalenge here 

The brighter!: day ; 
Sweet, downie thoughts, Toft ZZ/y-fhades, Calm 

Joyes full and true, [ftreams, 

Frefh, lpicie mornings, and eternal beams, — 

Thefe are his due ! 



The Refolve. 

Have confider'd it ; and find 

A longer Hay 
Is but excus'd neglect. To mind 
One path, and ftray 
Into another, or to none, 

Cannot be love ; 
When fhall that traveller come home, 

That will not move ? 
If thou would 'ft thither, linger not, 

Catch at the place ; 
Tell youth and beauty they muft rot, 

They're but a Cafe ; 
Loofe, parceird hearts will freeze : The Sun 

With fcatter'd locks 
Scarce warms, but by contraction 

Can heat the rocks. 
Call in thy Powers ; run on, and reach 

Home with the light ; 
Be there, before the fhadows ftretch, 

And Span up night. 
Follow the Cry no more : there is 




54 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

An ancient way- 
All ftrewed with flowres and happinefs, 

And frefh as May ; 
There turn, and turn no more ; Let wits, 

Smile at fair eies, 
Or lips ; But who there weeping fits, 

Hath got the Prize. 



The Match. 







Ear friend ! whofe holy ever-living lines 
Have done much good 
To many, and have checkt my blood, 
My fierce, wild blood, that ftill heaves, 
and inclines, 

But is ftill tam'd 
By thofe bright fires which thee inflam'd ; 
Here I joyn hands, and thruft my ftubborn heart 
Into thy Deed, 
There from no Duties to be freed, 
And if hereafter y outh ox folly thwart 

And claim their fhare, 
Here I renounce the pois'nous ware. 



II. 

ACcept, dread Lord, the poore Oblation ; 
It is but poore ; 
Yet through thy mercies may be more. 
O thou ! that canft not wifh my foul's damnation, 
Afford me life, 
And fave me from all inward ftrife ! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 55 

Two Lifes I hold from thee, my gracious Lord, 
Both colt thee dear ; 
For one, I am thy Tenant here ; 
The other, the true life, in the next world 
And endlefs is, 
O let me Hill mind that in this ! 
To thee therefore my Thoughts, Words, Anions 
I do reiign ; 
Thy will in all be done, not mine. 
Settle my houfe, and fhut out all detractions 
That may unknit 
My heart, and thee planted in it ; 
Lord Jefu ! thou didft bow thy blefTed head 
Upon a tree, 
O do as much, now unto me ! 
O hear, and heal thy fervant ! Lord, ftrike dead 
All lufts in me, 
Who onely wifli life to ferve thee ! 
Suffer no more this dult to overflow 

And drown my eies ; 
But feal, or pin them to thy ikies. 
And let this grain, which here in tears I fow. 
Though dead and Jick, 
Through thy Increafe grow new and quick. 



Rules and LefTons. 

Hen firft thy Eies unveil, give thy foul 
leave 
To do the like ; our Bodies but forerun 
The Spirit's duty. True hearts fpread 
and heave 




$6 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Unto their God, as flow'rs do to the Sun. 

Give him thy firft thoughts then; fo fhalt thou keep 
Him company all day, and in him fleep. 

Yet never fleep the Sun up. Prayer fhou'd 
Dawn with the day. There are fet, awful hours 
'Twixt heaven and us. The Manna was not good 
After Sun-rifing ; far-day fullies flowres. 

Rife to prevent the Sun ; fleep doth fins glut, 
And heaven's gate opens when this world's is fhut. 

Walk with thy fellow-creatures : note the hufo 
And wbifpers amongft them. There's not a Spring, 
Or Leafe but hath his Morning-hymn. Each Bujh 
And Oak doth know / AM. Canft thou not fing ? 

O leave thy Cares, and follies ! go this way ; 

And thou art fure to profper all the day. 

Serve God before the world ; let him not go, 
Until thou haft a blemng ; then refigne 
The whole unto him ; and remember who 
Prevail'd by wreftling ere the Sun did Jhine. 

Poure Oy/e upon the ftones ; weep for thy fin ; 

Then journey on, and have an eie to heav'n. 

Mornings are Myfteries ; the firft world's Youth, 
Man's Refurreftion, and the future's Bud 
Shrowd in their births : The Crown of life, light, truth 
Is ftil'd their ftarre, the ft one, and hidden food. 
Three blejfings wait upon them, two of which 
Should move ; They make us holy, happy, rich. 

When the world's up, and ev'ry fwarm abroad, 
Keep thou thy temper ; mix not with each Clay ; 
Difpatch necemties ; life hath a load 



OR SACRED POEMS: 57 

Which mull be carri'd on, and fafely may. 

Yet keep thofe cares without thee, let the heart 
Be God's alone, and choofe the better part. 

Through all thy Aftions, Counfels, and Difcourfe, 
Let Mildnefs and Religion guide thee out; 
If truth be thine, what needs a brutifh force ? 
But what's not good and juft ne'er go about. 

Wrong not thy Confcience for a rotten flick ; 

That gain is dreadful, which makes fpirits lick. 

To God, thy countrie, and thy friend be true ; 

If Prieft and People change, keep thou thy ground. 

Who fels Religion, is a Judas Jew j 

And, oathes once broke, the foul cannot be found. 
The perjurer's a devil let loofe : what can 
Tie up his hands, that dares mock God and man? 

Seek not the fame Heps with the Crowd ; Hick thou 
To thy fure trot ; a Conflant, humble mind 
Is both his own Joy, and his Maker's too ; 
Let folly dull it on, or lag behind. 
A fweet J "elf ^-privacy in a right foul 
Out-runs the Earth, and lines the utmofl pole. 

To all that feek thee bear an open heart ; 

Make not thy breafl a Labyrinth or Trap ; 

If tryals come, this wil make good thy part, 

For honefly is fafe, come what can hap; 

It is the good man's feaft> the prince of flo wres, 
Which thrives mfkorms, and fmels bell after Jhow res. 

Seal not thy Eyes up from the poor, but give 
Proportion to their Merits, and thy Purfe ; 



58 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Thou may'ft in Rags a mighty Prince relieve, 
Who, when thy iins call for't, can fence a Curfe. 
Thou malt not lofe one mite. Though waters ftray , 
The Bread we call returns in fraughts one day. 

Spend not an hour fo as to weep another, 

For tears are not thine own ; If thou giv'ft words, 

Dam not with them thy friend, nor Heav'n ; O 

fmother 
A viperous thought ; fome Syllables are Swords, 

Unbitted tongues are in their penance double ; 

Theyfhame their owners, and their hearers trouble. 

Injure not modeft bloud, while fpirits rife 
In judgement againft Lewdnefs ; that's bafe wit, 
Thatvoyds but filth and flench. Haft thou no prize 
But ficknefs or Infeclion ? ftifle it. 

Who makes his jeft of fins, muft be at leaft 
If not a very devill, worfe than Beaft, 

Yet fly no friend, if he be fuch indeed ; 

But meet to quench his Longings, and thy Thirft ; 

Allow your Joyes Religion ; That done, fpeed, 

And bring the fame man back, thou wert at Aril. 
Who fo returns not, cannot pray aright, 
But fhuts his door, and leaves God out all night. 

To heighten thy Devotions, and keep low 
All mutinous thoughts, what bufines e'r thou haft, 
Obferve God in his works ; here fountains flow, 
Birds fmg, Beafts feed, Fijb leap, and th' Earth 
ftands fall ; 
Above are reftles motions, running Lights, 
Vaft Circling Azure, giddy Clouds, days, nights. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 59 

When Seafons change, then lay before thine Eys 
His wondrous Method ; mark the various Scenes ** 
In heav'n ; Hail, Thunder, Rain-bows, Snow, and Ice, 
Calmes, Tempefts, Light, and darknes by his means ; 

Thou canft not miffe his Praife ; Each tree, herb, 
flow re 

Are fhadows of his wifedome, and his Pow'r. 

To me ales when thou doeft come, give him the praife 
Whofe Arm fupply'd thee ; Take what may fuffice, 
And then be thankful ; O admire His ways 
Who ills the world's unempty'd granaries ! 
A thanklefs feeder is a Theif, his feafl 
A very Robbery, and himfelf no gueft. 

High-noon thus pail, thy time decays ; provide 

Thee other thoughts ; Away with friends and mirth ; 

The Sun now ftoops, and hailes his beams to hide 

Under the dark and melancholy Earth. 

All but preludes thy End. Thou art the man 
Whofe Rife, bight, and Defcent is but a fpan. 

Yet, fet as he 'doth, and 'tis well. Have all 
Thy Beams home with thee : trim thy Lamp, buy Oyl, 
And then fet forth ; who is thus dreft, The Fall 
Furthers his glory, and gives death the foyl. 
Man is a Summer s day ; whofe youth and fire 
Cool to a glorious Evening, and Expire. 

When night comes, lift thy deeds ; make plain the way 
'Twixt heaven and thee ; block it not with delays ; 
But perfect all before thou ileep'ft ; Then fay 
Ther's one Sun more ft rung on my Bead of days. 
What's good fcore up for Joy ; the bad well fcann'd 
Waih off with tears, and get thy Mafter's hand. 



6o SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Thy Accounts thus made, fpend in the grave one houre 
Before thy time ; Be not a ftranger there, 
Where thou may 'ft fleep whole ages ; Life's poor flow'r 
Lafts not a night fometimes. Bad fpirits fear 
This Converfation ; But the good man lyes 
Intombed many days before he dyes. 

Being laid, and dreft for fleep, Clofe not thy Eyes 
Up with thy Curtains ; Give thy foul the wing 
In fome good thoughts ; So when the day fhall rife, 
And thou unrakfl thy fire, thok /parks will bring 

New flames ,• Befides where thefe lodge vain beats 
mourn 

And die ; that Bujh, where God is, fhall not burn. 

When thy Nap's over, ftir thy fire, unrake 
In that dead age ; one beam i'th' dark outvies 
Two in the day ; Then from the Damps and Ake 
Of night fhut up thy haves ; be Chafte ; God prys 

Through thickeft nights; Though then the Sun be 
far, 

Do thou the works of Day, and rife* a Star. 

Briefly, Doe as tbou would* ft be done unto, 
Love God, and love thy Neighbour y Watch, and Pray. 
Thefe are the Words, and Works of life ; This do, 
And live ; who doth not thus, hath loft Heav'n's way. 
O lofe it not ! look up, wilt Change thofe Lights 
For Chains of Darknes and Eternal Nights ? 




OR SACRED POEMS. 61 



Corruption. 

|Ure, It was fo. Man in thofe early days 
Was not all ftone and Earth ; 
He Ihin'd a little, and by thofe weak Rays, 
Had fome glimpfe of his birth. 
He faw Heaven o'er his head, and knew from whence 

He came condemned hither, 
And, as firil Love draws ftrongeft, fo from hence 

His mind fure progrefs'd thither. 
Things here were ftrange unto him : Swet and till, 

All was a thorn or weed ; 
Nor did thofe kit, but, like himfelf, dyed ftill 

As foon as they did Seed ,* 
They feem'd to quarrel with him ; for that Act, 

That felTd him, foyl'd them all ; 
He drew the Curfe upon the world, and Crackt 

The whole frame with his fall. 
This made him long for home, as loath to Hay 

With murmurers and foes ; 
He fighed for Eden, and would often fay 

Ah ! what bright days were thofe ! 
Nor was Heav'n cold unto him ; for each day 

The vally, or the Mountain 
Afforded vifits, and ftill Paradife lay 

In fome green made or fountain. 
Angels lay Leiger here ; Each Bulh, and Cell, 

Each Oke and high- way knew them ; 
Walk but the fields, or fit down at fome well. 

And he was fure to view them. 
Almighty Love ! where art thou now ? mad man 



62 SILEX SCINT1LLJNS 

Sits down, and freeze th on, 

He raves, and fwears to ftir nor fire nor fan, 
But bids the thread be fpun. 

I fee, thy Curtains are Clofe-drawn ; Thy bow- 
Looks dim too in the Cloud ; 

Sin triumphs ftill, and man is funk below 
The Center, and his fhrowd. 

All's in deep fleep, and night ; Thick darknefs lyes 
And hatcheth o'er thy people — 

But hark ! what trumpet's that, what angel cries 
Arife! Tbruft in t by fickle! 



H. Scriptures, 

S-Elcome, dear book, foul's Joy and food ! 
The feaft 
Of Spirits ; Heav'n extracted lyes in thee. 
Thou art life's Charter, The Dove's 
fpotlefs neft 
Where fouls are hatch'd unto Eternitie. 

In thee the hidden ftone, the Manna lies ; 

Thou art the great Elixir rare and Choice ; 
The Key that opens to all Myfteries, 

The Word in Characters, God in the Voice, 

O that I had deep Cut in my hard heart 

Each line in thee ! Then would I plead in groans 

Of my Lord's penning, and by fweeteft Art 
Return upon himfelf the Law, and Stones, 
Read here, my faults are thine. This Book, and I 
Will tell thee fo ; Sweet Saviour thou didft dye I 





OR SJCRED POEMS. 63 



Unprofitablenes. 

jOw rich, O Lord, how frefh thy vifits are ! 

'Twas but jufl now my bleak leaves hope- 
lefs hung 
Sullyed with dull and mud ; 
Each fnarling blafl fhot through me, and did fhear 
Their Youth and beauty ; Cold fhowres nipt, and 
wrung 

Their fpicinefs and bloud. 
But fince thou didft in one fweet glance furvey 
Their fad decays, I flourifh, and once more 

Breathe all perfumes and fpice ; 
I fmell a dew like Myrrb, and all the day 
Wear in my bofome a full Sun ; fuch ilore 

Hath one beame from thy Eyes. 
But, ah, my God ! what fruit hail thou of this ? 
What one poor leaf did ever I let fall 

To wait upon thy wreath? 
Thus thou all day a thanklefs weed doll drefs, 
And when th' hall done, a flench or fog is all 

The odour I bequeath. 



Chrifts Nativity. 




Wake, glad heart ! get up, and Sing ! 
It is the Birth-day of thy King. 
Awake ! awake ! 
The Sun doth fliake 



64 SILEX SCINTILLJNS 

Light from his locks, and, all the way 
Breathing Perfumes, doth fpice the day. 



Awake, awake ! heark how th' wood rings, 
Winds whifper, and the bufie fprings 

A Concert make ; 

Awake ! awake ! 
Man is their high-prieft, and mould rife 
To offer up the facrifice. 

3- 

I would I were fome Bird, or liar, 
Flutt'ring in woods, or lifted far 

Above this Inne 

And Rode of fin! 
Then either Star or Bird ihould be 
Shining or finging ftill to thee. 

4- 
I would I had in my beft part 
Fit Roomes for thee ! or that my heart 

Were fo clean as 

Thy manger was ! 
But I am all filth, and obfcene ; 
Yet, if thou wilt, thou canft make clean. 

5; 

Sweet Jefu ! will then ; Let no more 
This Leper haunt and foyl thy door ! 

Cure him, Eafe him, 

O releafe him ! 
And let once more, by myftick birth, 
The Lord of life be born in Earth. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 65 



II. 

HOw kind is heav'n to man ! If here 
One finner doth amend, 
Strait there is Joy, and ev'ry fphere 

In mufick doth Contend. 
And fhall we then no voices lift ? 
Are mercy and falvation 
Not worth our thanks ? Is life a gift 

Of no more acceptation ? 
Shall he that did come down from thence, 

And here for us was flain, 
Shall he be now call off? no fenfe 

Of all his woes remain ? 
Can neither Love nor fufPrings bind ? 

Are we all flone and Earth ? 
Neither his bloudy paffions mind, 

Nor one day blerte his birth ? 
Alas, my God! Thy birth now here 
Mull not be numbred in the year.* 



The Check. 

Eace, peace ! I blufh to hear thee ; when 
thou art 
A dully flory, 
A lpeechleffe heap, and in the midfl my 
heart 



* The Puritans abolijhed the celebration of Chriftmas* 
F 




66 SILEX SCINTILLJNS 

In the fame livery dreft 
Lyes tame as all the reft ; 
When fix years thence digg'd up, fome youthfull Eie 

Seeks there for Symmetry, 
But finding none, fhall leave thee to the wind. 
Or the next foot to Crufh, 
Scatt'ring thy kind 
And humble duft, — tell then, dear flefh, 
Where is thy glory ? 



As he, that in the midft of day Expe&s 

The hideous night, 
Sleeps not, but fhaking off floth and negle&s, 
Works with the Sun, and fets 
Paying the day its debts ; 
That for Repofe and darknefs bound, he might 

Reft from the fears i'th' night ; 
So mould we too. All things teach us to die, 
And point us out the way ; 
While we pafle by, 
And mind it not ; play not away 
Thy glimpfe of light. 

3- 
View thy fore-runners. Creatures, giv'n to be 

Thy youth's Companions, 
Take their leave, and die ; Birds, beafts, each tree 
All that have growth or breath 
Have one large language, Death I 
O then play not I but ftrive to Him, who Can 

Make thefe fad ihades pure Sun, 
Turning their mifts to beams, their damps to day ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 67 

Whofe pow'r doth fo excell 
As to make Clay 
A fpirit, and true glory dwell 
In dull and {tones. 

4- 
Heark, how he doth Invite thee ! with what voice 

Of Love and forrow 
IJe begs and Calls ! O that in thefe thy days 
Thou knew'ft but thy own good ! 
Shall not the Crys of bloud, 
Of God's own bloud awake thee ? He bids beware 

Of drunknes, forfeits, Care ; 
But thou fleep'ft on ; where's now thy proteftation, 
Thy Lines, thy Love ? Away ! 
Redeem the day ; 
The day that gives no obfervation 
Perhaps to morrow. 



Diforder and frailty. 

^Hen firft thou didft even from the grave 
And womb of darknefs becken out 
My brutifh foul, and to thy Have 
Becam'ft thy felf both guide and Scout ; 
Even from that hour 
Thou got' ft my heart ; And though here toft 
By winds, and bit with froft, 
I pine and fhrink, 
Breaking the link 
'Twixt thee and me ; And oftimes creep 
Into th' old filence, and dead fleep, 




68 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Quitting thy way 
All the long day ; 
Yet, fure, my God ! I love thee moft. 
Alas, thy love! 

2. 
I threaten heaven, and from my Cell 
Of Clay and frailty break and bud, 
Touch'd by thy fire and breath ; Thy bloud 
Too is my Dew, and fpringing well. 

But while I grow 
And ftretch to thee, ayming at all 
Thy ftars and fpangled hall, 

Each fly doth tafte, 

Poyfon, and blaft 
My yielding leaves ; fometimes a fliowr 
Beats them quite off; and in an hour 

Not one poor flioot, 

But the bare root 
Hid under ground furvives the fall. 

Alas, frail weed! 

3- 

Thus like fome fleeping Exhalation, 
Which, wak'd by heat and beams, makes up 
Unto that Comforter, the Sun, 
And foars, and fhines, but e'er we fup 

And walk two Heps, 
Cool'd by the damps of night defcends, 
And, whence it fprung, there ends, 

Doth my weak fire 

Pine, and retire ; 
And, after all my hight of flames, 
In fickly Expirations tames, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 69 

Leaving me dead 
On my firft bed, 
Untill thy Sun again afcends. 
Poor y falling Star! 

4- 
O, yes ! but give wings to my fire ; 
And hatch my foul, untill it fly 
Up where thou art, amongft thy tire 
Of Stars, above Infirmity ; 

Let not perverfe, 
And foolifh thoughts adde to my Bill 
Of forward Sins, and Kill 

That feed, which thou 

In me didft fow ; 
But drefle, and water with thy grace 
Together with the feed, the place ; 

And, for his fake 

Who died to Hake 
His life for mine, tune to thy will 

My heart, my verfe. 

Hofea Cap. 6. ver. 4. 

O Ephraim what Jb all I do unto thee? Judah 
how Jhall I in treat thee P for thy goodnefs is as a 
morning Cloudy and as the early Dew it goeth away. 



Idle Verfe. 

O, go, queint folies, fugred fin, 
Shadow no more my door ! 
I will no longer Cobwebs fpin ; 
Pm too much on the fcore. 




70 SILEX SCINTILLJNS 

For fince amidft my youth and night 
My great preferver fmiles, 

Wee'l make a Match, my only light 
And Joyn againfl their wiles. 

Blind, defp'rate Jits, that ftudy how 

To dreffe and trim our fhame, 

That gild rank poyfon, and allow 
Vice in a fairer name ; 

The Purles of youthfull bloud and bowles, 
Lull in the Robes of Love, 

The idle talk of feav'rifti fouls 

Sick with a fcarf or glove ; 

Let it fuffice my warmer days 

Simper'd and fhin'd on you ; 

Twill not my Cypreffe with your Bays 
Or Rofes with my Yewgh. 

Go, go, feek out fome greener thing ; 

It fnows and freeze th here ; 
Let Nightingales attend the fpring ; 

Winter is all my year. 



S on-day es. 

Right fliadows of true Reft! fome lhoots 
ofblhTe; 

Heaven once a week ; 
The next world's gladnefs prepoffell in 
this; 

A day to feek ; 




OR SACRED POEMS. 7 i 

Eternity in time ; the fteps by which 
We Climb above all ages ; Lamps that light 
Man through his heap of dark days ; and the rich, 
And full redemption of the whole week's flight ! 

2. 
The Pulleys unto headlong man ; time's bower ; 

The narrow way ; 
Tranfplanted Paradife ; God's walking houre ; 

The Cool o'th' day ! 

The Creature's Jubile ; God's parle with dull; 
Heaven here ; Man on thofe hills of Myrrh and 

flowres ; 
Angels defcending ; the Returns of Truft ; 
A Gleam of Glory after fix-days-fhowres ! 

3- 

The Churche's love-feafts ; Time's Prerogative, 
And Intereft 

Deducted, from the whole ; The Combs, and hive, 
And home of reft. 

The milky way Chalkt out with Suns ; a Clue, 
That guides through erring hours ; and in full ftory 
A tafte of Heav'n on earth ; the pledge and Cue 
Of a full feait ; and the Out-Courts of glory. 



Repentance. 

Ord, fince thou didft in this vile Clay 
That facred Ray, 
Thy Spirit, plant, quickning the whole 
With that one grain's Infufed wealth, 




72 SILEX SCINTILLJNS 

My forward flefli crept on, and fubtly ftole 
Both growth and power ; Checking the health 
■ And heat of thine : That little gate 

And narrow way, by which to thee 
The PafTage is, He term'd a grate 

And Entrance to Captivitie ; 
Thy laws but nets, where fome fmall birds, 
And thofe but feldome too, were caught, 
Thy Promifes but empty words 

Which none but Children heard, or taught. 
This I believed ; And though a friend 

Came oft from far, and whifper'd, No ; 
Yet, that not forting to my end, 

I wholy liften'd to my foe. 
Wherefore, pierc'd through with grief, my fad 

Seduced foul fighs up to thee ; 
To thee, who with true light art Clad, 

And feeft all things juft as they be. 
Look from thy throne upon this Roll 

Of heavy fins, my high tranfgrefhons, 
Which I Confefle with all my foul ; 
My God, Accept of my Confefiion ! 
It was laft day, 
Touch'd with the guilt of my own way, 
I fate alone, and taking up 
The bitter Cup, 
Through all thy fair and various ftore, 
Sought out what might outvie my fcore. 

The blades of grafle thy Creatures feeding ; 
The trees, their leafs ; the flowres, their Seeding ; 
The Dull, of which I am a part; 
The Stones much fofter than my heart ; 
The drops of rain, the fighs of wind, 
The Stars, to which I am ftark blind ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 73 

The Dew thy herbs drink up by night, 
The beams they warm them at i'th' light ; 
All that have fignature or life 
I fummon'd to decide this ftrife ; 
And left I mould lack for Arrears, 
A fpring ran by, I told her tears ; 
But when thefe came unto the fcale, 
My fins alone outweigh'd them alL 

O my dear God ! my life, my love ! 

Moft blefled lamb ! and mildeft dove ! 

Forgive your penitent Offender, 

And no more his fins remember ; 

Scatter thefe lhades of death, and give 

Light to my foul, that it may live ; 

Cut me not off for my tranfgreffions, 

Wilful rebellions, and fuppreffions ; 

But give them in thofe ftreams a part 

Whofe fpring is in my Saviour's heart. 

Lord, I confeffe the heynous fcore, 

And pray, I may do fo no more ; 

Though then all finners I exceed; 

O think on this ; Thy Son did bleed! 

O call to mind his wounds, his woes, 

His Agony, and bloudie throes ; 

Then look on all that thou haft made, 

And mark how they do fail and fade ; 

The heavens themfelves, though fair and bright, 

Are dark and unclean in thy fight ; 

How then, with thee, Can man be holy, 

Who doeft thine Angels charge with folly ? 

what am I, that I lhould breed 
Figs on a thorne, flowres on a weed ? 

1 am the gourd of fin and forrow, 
Growing o'er night, and gone to morrow* 



74 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

In all this Round of life and death 
Nothing's more vile than is my breath ; 
Profanenes on my tongue doth reft, 
Defedts and darknefs in my breft ; 
Pollutions all my body wed, 
And even my foul to thee is dead ; 
Only in him, on whom I feaft, 
Both foul and body are well dreft ; 
His pure perfection quits all fcore, 
And fills the Boxes of his poor ; 

He is the Center of long life and light ; 

I am but finite, He is Infinite. 

O let thy Juftice then in him Confine ; 

And through his merits make thy mercy mine ! 



The Burial of an Infant. 




Left Infant Bud, whofe BlofTome-life 
Did only look about, and fall, 
Wearyed out in a harmlefs ftrife 
Of tears, and milk, the food of all ! 



Sweetly didft thou expire : Thy foul 
Flew home unftain'd by his new kin ; 
For ere thou knew'ft how to be foul, 
Death wearfd thee from the world and fin. 

Softly reft all thy Virgin- Crums ! 
Lapt in the fweets of thy young breath, 
Expecting till thy Saviour Comes 
To dreffe them, and unfwadle death. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 75 



Faith. 

\ Right and bleft beame ! whofe ftrong pro- 
jection, 

Equall to all, 

Reacheth as well things of dejection 
As th' high and tall ; 
How hath my God by raying thee 

Inlarg'd his fpoufe, 
And of a private familie 

Made open houfe ! 
All may be now Co-heirs ; no noife 

Of Bond or Free 
Can Interdict us from thofe Joys 

That wait on thee. 
The Law and Ceremonies made 

A .glorious night, 
Where Stars, and Clouds, both light, and made 

Had equal right ; 
But, as in nature, when the day 

Breaks, night adjourns, 
Stars fhut up ihop, mills pack away, 

And the Moon mourns ; 
So when the Sun of righteoufnefs 

Did once appear, 
That Scene was chang'd, and a new drefTe 

Left for us here ; 
Veiles became ufeles, Altars fell, 

Fires fmoking die ; 
And all that sacred pomp, and fhell 

Of things did flie. 



76 SILEX SCINTILLJNS 

Then did He ftiine forth, whofe fad fall, 

And bitter fights 
Were figur'd in thofe myftical, 

And Cloudie Rites ; 
And as i'th' natural Sun, thefe three, 

Light, motion, beat, 
So are now Faith, Hope, Charity 

Through him Compleat ; 
Faith fpans up bliffe; what fin and death 

Put us quite from, 
Left we fhould run for't out of breath, 

Faith brings us home ; 
So that I need no more, but fay 

/ do believe, 
And my moft loving Lord ftraitway 

Doth anfwer, Live / 



The Dawning. 

what time wilt thou come ? when 
fhall that crie 
The Bridegroome's Comming! fill the 
iky? 

Shall it in the Evening run 
When our words and works are done ? 
Or will thy all-surprizing light 

Break at midnight, 
When either fleep, or fome dark pleafure 
PofTefTeth mad man without meafure ? 
Or fhall thefe early, fragrant hours 

Unlock thy bowres ? 
And with their blufh of light defcry 




OR SACRED POEMS. 77 

Thy locks crown'd with eternitie ? 
Indeed, it is the only time 
That with thy glory doth bell chime ; 
All now are ftirring, ev'ry field 

Full hymns doth yield ; 
The whole Creation makes off night, 
And for thy fhadow looks the light ; 
Stars now vaniih without number, 
Sleepie Planets fet and flumber, 
The purfie Clouds difband and fcatter, 
All expecl: fome fudden matter ; 
Not one beam triumphs, but from far 

That morning-ftar. 

O at what time foever thou, 

Unknown to us, the heavens wilt bow, 

And, with thy Angels in the Fan, 

Defcend to judge poor carelefs man, 

Grant, I may not like puddle lie 

In a Corrupt fecuritie, 

Where, if a traveller water crave, 

He finds it dead, and in a grave ; 

But as this reftlefs, vocal Spring 

All day and night doth run, and fing, 

And though here born, yet is acquainted 

Elfewhere, and flowing keeps untainted ; 

So let me all my bufie age 

In thy free fervices ingage ; 

And though (while here) of force I mull 

Have Commerce fomtimes with poor dull, 

And in my flefh, though vile and low, 

As this doth in her Channel, flow, 

Yet let my Courfe, my aym, my Love, 

And chief acquaintance be above; 




78 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

So when that day and hour fhall come, 
In which thy felf will be the Sun, 
Thou'lt find me dreft and on my way, 
Watching the Break of thy great day. 



Admiffion. 

|Ow flirill are filent tears ? when fin got head 
And all my Bowels turn'd 
To brafle and iron, when my ftock lay 
dead, 

And all my powers mourn'd ; 
Then did thefe drops, (for Marble fweats, 

And Rocks have tears,) 
As rain here at our windows beats, 
Chide in thine Ears ; 

2. 
No quiet couldft thou have : nor didft thou wink, 

And let thy Begger lie, 
But e'r my eies could overflow their brink 
Didft to each drop reply ; 
Bowels of Love ! at what low rate, 

And flight a price 
Doft thou relieve us at thy gate, 
And ftill our Cries ! 

3- 

Wee are thy Infants, and fuck thee ; If thou 

But hide, or turn thy face, 
Becaufe where thou art yet we cannot go, 

We fend tears to the place. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 79 

Thefe find thee out, and though our fins 

Drove thee away ; 
Yet with thy love that abfence wins 

Us double pay. 

4- 
O give me then a thankful heart ! a heart 

After thy own, not mine ; 
So after thine, that all and ev'ry part 
Of mine may wait on thine ; 
O hear ! yet not my tears alone, 

Hear now a floud, 
A floud that drowns both tears and grones, 
My Saviour's bloud. 



Praife. 

Ing of Comforts ! King of life ! 
Thou haft cheer'd me ; 
And when fears and doubts were rife, 
Thou haft cleer'd me ! 



Not a nook in all my Breaft 
But thou fill'ft it, 

Not a thought, that breaks my reft, 
But thou kill'ft it ; 

Wherefore with my utmoft ftrength 
I will praife thee, 

And as thou giv'ft line and length 
I will raife thee ; 

Day, and night, not once a day 
I will bleffe thee, 




80 SI LEX SCINTILLANS 

And my foul in new array 
I will drefle thee ; 

Not one minute in the year 
But I'll mind thee, 

As my feal and bracelet here 
I will bind thee ; 

In thy word, as if in heaven 
I will reft me, 

And thy promife 'till made even 
There mall feaft me. 

Then thy fayings all my life 

There fhall pleafe me, 

And thy bloudy wounds, and ftrife 
They will eafe me ; 

With thy grones my daily breath 
I will meafure, 

And my life hid in thy death 
I will treafure. 

Though then thou art 

Paft thought of heart 
All perfect fulnefs, 

And canft no whit 

AccefTe admit 
From duft and dulnefs ; 

Yet to thy name, 
As not the fame 
With thy bright Effence> 

Our foul Clay hands 



OR SACRED POEMS. Si 

At thy Commands 
Bring praife and Incenfe ; 

If then, dread Lord> 

When to thy board 
Thy wretch comes begging, 

He hath a flowre 

Or, to his pow'r* 
Some fuch poor OrFring ; 

When thou hall: made 

Thy begger glad, 
And fill'd his bofome, 

Let him, though poor> 

Strow at thy door 
That one poor BlofTome* 



Dreffing. 

Thou that loveft a pure and whitend foul ! 
That feedft among the Lillies, 'till the day 
Break, and the fhadows flee ! touch with 
one Coal 
My frozen heart ! and with thy fecret key 

Open my defolate rooms ; my gloomie Breft 
With thy cleer fire refine, burning to dull 
Thefe dark Confufions that within me neft, 
And foyl thy Temple with a finful ruft. 

Thou holy, harmlefs, undefil'd High-priefl ! 
The perfect, full oblation for all fin, 
Whofe glorious conquer! nothing can refill, 
But even in babes doeft triumph ftill and win ; 

G 




82 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Give to thy wretched one 
Thy myfticall Communion,. 
That, abfent, he may fee, 
Live, die, and rife with thee ; 
Let him fo follow here,, that in the end 
He may take thee, as thou doft him intend. 

Give him thy private feal, 
Earneft, and fign !. Thy gifts fo deal 
That thefe forerunners here 
May make the - future cleer ! 
Whatever thou doft bid let faith make good, 
Bread for thy body, and Wine for thy blood. 

Give him, with pitty ,. love, 
Two flowres that grew with thee above ; 

Love that fhall not admit 

Anger for one fhort fit ; 
And pitty of fuch a divine extent, 
That may thy members, more than mine, refent. 

Give me, my God !. thy grace, 
The beams, and brightnefs of thy face ; 

That never like a beaft 

I take thy facred feaft, 
Or the dread myfteries of thy bleft bloud 
Ufe, with like Cuftome, as my Kitchin food. 

Some lit to thee, and eat 
Thy body as their Common meat ; 
O let not me do fo I 
Poor duft mould ly ftill low ; 

Then kneel, my foul and body, kneel and bow ; 

If Saints and Angels fall down, much more thou. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 83 



Eafter-day. 

®Hou, whofe fad heart and weeping head 
lyes low, 
Whofe Cloudy breft cold damps invade, 
Who never feel'ft the Sun, nor fmooth'ft 
thy brow, 
But fitt'ft oppreffed in the made, 

Awake ! awake ! 
And in his Refurre&ion partake, 

Who on this day, that thou might'ft rife as he, 
Rofe up, and canceled two deaths due to thee. 

Awake ! awake ! and, like the Sun, difperfe 
All mills that would ufurp this day ; 

Where are thy Palmes, thy branches, and thy verfe ? 
Hofanna I heark ! why doeft thou Hay ? 
Arife ! arife ! 

And with his healing bloud anoint thine Eyes, 

Thy inward Eyes ; his bloud will cure thy mind, 
Whofe fpittle only could reftore the blind. 



Eafter Hymn. 

Eath, and darknefs get you packing, 
Nothing now to man is lacking ; 
All your triumphs now are ended, 
And what Adam marr'd is mended ; 
Graves are beds now for the weary, 
Death a nap, to wake more merry ; 




84 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Youth now, full of pious duty, 
Seeks in thee for perfect beauty ; 
The weak and aged tir'd with length 
Of daies from thee look for new ftrength ; 
And Infants with thy pangs Conteft 
As pleafant, as if with the breft. 

Then, unto Him, who thus hath thrown 
Even to Contempt thy kingdome down, 
And by His blood did us advance 
Unto His own Inheritance, 
To Him be glory, power, praife, 
From this, unto the laft of daies ! 



The Holy Communion. 

^Elcome fweet, facred feaft ! O welcome 
life ! 
Dead I was, and deep in trouble ; 
But grace and bleflings came with thee fo 
rife, 
That they have quicken'd even drie ftubble. 
Thus foules their bodies animate, 
And thus at firft when things were rude, 
Dark, void, and Crude, 
They by thy Word their beauty had and date ; 
All were by thee, 
And Hill muft be; 
Nothing that is, or lives, 
But hath his Quicknings, and reprieves, 
As thy hand opes or fhuts ; 
Healings, and Cuts, 
Darknefs, and day-light, life, and death 




OR SACRED POEMS. 85 

Are but meer leaves turn'd by thy breath. 
Spirits without thee die, 

And blacknefs fits 
On the divineft wits, 
As on the Sun Ecclipfes lie. 
But that great darknefs at thy death, 
When the veyl broke with thy laft breath, 
Did make us fee 
The way to thee ; 
And now by thefe fure, facred ties, 
After thy blood 
Our fov'rain good, 
Had clear'd our eies, 
And given us fight ; 
Thou doft unto thy felf betroth 
Our fouls and bodies both 
In everlafting light. 

Was't not enough that thou hadft payd the price, 

And given us eies 
When we had none, but thou mull alfo take 
Us by the hand, 
And keep us ftill awake, 
When we would fleep, 
Or from thee creep, 
Who without thee cannot Hand ? 

Was't not enough to lofe thy breath 
And blood by an accurfed death, 

But thou muft alfo leave 

To us, that did bereave 
Thee of them both, thefe feals, the means 

That mould both cleanfe 
And keep us fo, 




S6 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Who wrought thy wo ? 
O rofe of Sharon ! O the Lilly 

Of the valley ! 
How art thou now, thy flock to keep, 
Become both/00^, and Sbepheard to thy fheep ! 



Pfalm 121. 

P to thofe bright and gladfome hills, 

Whence flowes my weal and mirth, 
I look, and figh for Him, who fills 
Unfeen both heaven and earth. 



He is alone my help and hope, 
That I fhall not be moved ; 

His watchful Eye is ever ope, 
And guardeth His beloved ; 

The glorious God is my fole flay, 
He is my Sun and fhade ; 

The cold by night, the heat by day, 
Neither fhall me invade. 

He keeps me from the fpite of foes ; 

Doth all their plots controul ; 
And is a fhield, not reckoning thofe, 

Unto my very foul. 

Whether abroad, amidft the Crowd, 
Or elfe within my door, 

He is my Pillar and my Cloud, 
Now and for evermore. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 87 



Affliction. 

? Eace, peace ; It is not fo. Thou dofl 
mifcall 
Thy Phyfick ; Pills that change 
Thy fick Acceffions into fetled health ; 
This is the great Elixir that turns gall 
To wine and fweetnefs, Poverty to wealth, 
And brings man home, when he doth range. 
Did not he, who ordain'd the day, 

Ordain night too ? 
And in the greater world difplay 
What in the lefTer He would do ? 
All flelh is Clay, thou know'ft ; and but that God 

Doth ufe his rod, 
And by a fruitfull Change of frofts and fhowres 

Cherifh and bind thy pow'rs, 
Thou wouldlt to weeds and thirties quite diiperfe, 

And be more wild than is thy verfe. 
- Sicknefs is wholfome, Crofles are but curbs 

To check the mule, unruly man ; 
They are heaven's hufbandry, the famous fan, 

Purging the floor which Chaff difturbs. 
Were all the year one conftant Sun-fhine, wee 

Should have no flowres ; 
All would be drought and leannefs ; not a tree 

Would make us bowres. 
Beauty confifts in colours ; and that's bell 
Which is not fixt, but flies and flowes. 
The fettled Red is dull, and whiter that reft 
Something of ficknefs would difclofe. 
Viciflitude plaies all the game ; 



88 SILEX SCINT1LLANS 

Nothing that ftirrs, 
Or hath a name, 
But waits upon this wheel ; 
Kingdomes too have their Phyfick, and for fteel 

Exchange their peace and furrs. 
Thus doth God Key diforder'd man, 

which none elfe can, 
Tuning his breft to rife or fall ; 
And by a facred, needfull art 
Like firings, ftretch ev'ry part 
Making the whole moft Muficall, 



The Tempeft. 

|Ow is man parceled out ? how every hour 
Shews him himfelf, or fomething he 

fhould fee ! 
This late, long heat may his Xnftru£tion be ; 
And tempefts have more in them than a fhowr. 

When nature on her bofome faw 

Her Infants die, 
And all her flowres withered to ft raw. 

Her breft s grown dry ; 
She made the Earth, their nurfe IS tomb, 

Sigh to thefky, 
9 Till to thofe ftghes fetch' d from her womb 

Rain did reply ,• 
So in the midft of all her fears 

And faint requefts, 
Her Earneft Jighes procured her tears 

And fill d her brefts* 




OR SACRED POEMS. 89 

O that man could do fo ! that he would hear 

The world read to him ! all the vaft expence 
In the Creation fhed, and flav'd to fence 

Makes up but lectures for his eie and ear. 

Sure Mighty Love, forefeeing the defcent 

Of this poor Creature, by a gracious art 

Hid in thefe low things fnares to gain his heart, 

And layd furprizes in each Element. 

All things here mew him heaven ; waters that fall, 
Chide and fly up ; Mifts of corrupteft foam 
Quit their firfl: beds & mount ; trees, herbs, 
flowres, all 

Strive upwards Hill, and point him the way home. 

How do they caft off groflhefs ? only Earthy 
And Man like Iffachar in lodes delight, 
Water's refin'd to Motion, Aire to Light , 

Fire to all* three, but man hath no fuch mirth. 

Plants in the root with Earth do moll Comply, 
Their Leafs with water and humiditie, 
The Flowres to air draw neer and fubtiltie, 

And feeds a kindred fire have with the iky. 

All have their keyes and fet afcents ; but man 

Though he knows thefe, and hath more of his 

own, 
Sleeps at the ladder's foot ; alas ! what can 

Thefe new difcoveries do, except they drown ? 

Thus, groveling in the (hade and darknefs, he 
Sinks to a dead oblivion ; and though all 

* Light, Motion, heat. 



90 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

He fees, like Pyramids, fhoot from this ball 
And lefPning flill grow up invifihly, 

Yet hugs he flill his durt ; The fluff e he wears, 

And painted trimming takes down both his eies ; 
Heaven hath lefs beauty than the duft he fpies, 

And money better mufick than the Spheres. 

Life's but a blaft ; he knows it ; what ? fhall ftraw, 
And bul-rufh-fetters temper his ihort hour ? 
Muft he nor fip nor fing ? grows ne'r a flowr 

To crown his temples ? fhall dreams be his law ? 

O foolifh man ! how haft thou loft thy fight ? 
How is it that the Sun to thee alone 
Is grown thick darknefs, and thy bread a ftone ? 

Hath flefh no foftnefs now ? mid-day no light ? 

Lord ! thou didft put a foul here. If I muft 
Be broke again, for flints will give no fire 
Without a fteel, O let thy power cleer 

Thy gift once more, and grind this flint to duft ! 



Retirement. 

£Ho on yon throne of Azure fits, 
Keeping clofe houfe 
Above the morning-ftarre, 
Whofe meaner fhowes, 
And outward utenfils thefe glories are, 
That fhine and fhare 
Part of his manfion ; He one day, 
When I went quite aftray, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 91 

Out of meer love, 
By his mild Dove, 
Did mew me home, and put me in the way. 



Let it fuffice at length thy fits 
And lulls, faid he, 
Have had their wiih, and way ; 
PrefTe not to be 
Still thy own foe, and mine ; for to this day 
I did delay, 
And would not fee, but chofe to wink ; 
Nay, at the very brink 
And edge of all, 
When thou wouldfl fall, 
My love-twift held thee up, my unfeen link. 

3. 
I know thee well ; for I have fram'd, 
And hate thee not ; 
Thy fpirit too is mine ; 
I know thy lot, 
Extent, and end, for my hands drew the line 
Affigned thine ; 
If then thou would'lt unto my feat, 
'Tis not th' applaufe and feat 
Of dull and clay 
Leads to that way, 
But from thofe follies a refolv'd Retreat. 

4- 
Now here below where yet untam'd 
Thou doll thus rove, 
I have a houfe as well 
As there above; 



92 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

In it my Name and honour both do dwell ; 
And fhall untill 
I make all new ; there nothing gay 
In perfumes or Array, 
Dull lies with dull, 
And hath but juft 
The fame Refpecl and room with ev'ry clay. 

5- 

A faithfull fchool, where thou maift fee, 
In Heraldrie 
Of ftones and fpeechlefs Earth, 
Thy true defcent ; 
Where dead men preach, who can turn fealts and 
mirth 

To funerals and Lent, 
There dull, that out of doors might fill 
Thy eies, and blind thee ftill, 
Is fall alleep. 
Up then, and keep 
Within thofe doors, my doors. Doll hear ? / will. 



Love, and Difcipline, 



Ince in a land not barren ftill, 
Becaufe thou doll thy grace diftill, 
My lot is fain, Blell be thy will ! 



And fince thefe biting frolls but kill 
Some tares in me which choke or fpill 
That feed thou fow'll, Blell be thy fkill ! 




OR SACRED POEMS. 93 

Bleft be thy Dew, and bleft thy froft, 
And happy I to be fo croft, 
And cur'd by Crofles at thy coll. 

The Dew doth Cheer what is diftreft, 
The frofts ill weeds nip and moleft, 
In both thou work'fl unto the belt 

Thus while thy fev'ral mercies plot, 
And work on me now cold now hot, 
The work goes on, and flacketh not ; 

For as thy hand the weather fleers, 
So thrive I beft 'twixt joyes and tears, 
And all the year have fome grean Ears. 



The Pilgrimage, 

S travellours when the twilight's come, 
And in the iky the flars appear, 
The pall daies accidents do fumme 
With, Thus wee f aw there, and thus here. 

Then Jacoi-like lodge in a place, 
A place, and no more, is fet down, 
Where till the day reftore the race 
They reft and dream homes of their own. 

So for this night I linger here, 
And full of toffings to and fro, 
Expe£t ftill when thou wilt appear, 
That I may get me up, and go. 




94 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

I long and grone and grieve for thee, 
For thee my words, my tears do gufh ; 
O that I were but where I fee / 
Is all the note within my Bufh. 

As Birds robb'd of their native wood, 
Although their Diet may be fine, 
Yet neither fing, nor like their food, 
But with the thought of home do pine ; 

So do I mourn, and hang my head ; 
And though thou doft me fullnes give, 
Yet look I for far better bread, 
Becaufe by this man cannot live. 

O feed me then ! and fince I may 
Have yet more days, more nights to Count, 
So ftrengthen me, Lord, all the way, 
That I may travel to thy Mount. 

Heb. Cap. xi. ver. 13. 

And they Confejfed, that they wereftrangers, and 
Pilgrims on the earth. 



The Law, and the Gofpel. 

J Ord, when thou didft on Sinai pitch, 
And ihine from Paran, when a firie Law, 
Pronounc'd with thunder and thy threats, 
did thaw 

Thy People's hearts, when all thy weeds were rich, 
And Inacceflible for light, 
Terrour, and might ; — 




OR SACRED POEMS. 95 

How did poor flefh, which after thou didft weare, 

Then faint and fear ! 
Thy Chofen flock, like leafs in a high wind, 
Whifper'd obedience, and their heads Inclin'd. 



But now fince we to Sion came, 
And through thy bloud thy glory fee, 
With filial Confidence we touch ev'n thee ; 
And where the other mount, all clad in flame 

And threatning Clouds, would not fo much 
As 'bide the touch, 
We Climb up this, and have too all the way 

Thy hand our Hay ; 
Nay, thou tak'ft ours, and, which full Comfort brings, 
Thy Dove too bears us on her facred wings. 

3- 

Yet fince man is a very brute, 
And after all thy Acts of grace doth kick, 
Slighting that health thou gav'ft when he was lick, 
Be not difpleas'd, if I, who have a fute 

To thee each houre, beg at thy door 
For this one more ; 

plant in me thy Go/pel, and thy Law, 

Both Faith, and Awe ; 
So twill them in my heart, that ever there 

1 may as well as Love, find too thy fear! 

4- 

Let me not fpill, but drink thy bloud ; 
Not break thy fence, and by a black Excefs 
Force down a Juft Curfe, when thy hands would blefs ; 
Let me not fcatter and defpife my food,. 




96 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Or nail thofe blefled limbs again 
Which bore my pain. 
So Shall thy mercies flow : for while I fear, 

I know thoul't bear, 
But fhould thy mild Injunction nothing move me, 
I would both think and judge I did not love thee. 

John Cap. 14. ver. 15. 
If ye love me, keep my Commandments. 



The World. 

Saw Eternity the other night 

Like a great Ring of pure and endlefs light* 

All calm, as it was bright ; 
And round beneath it. Time in hours, 
days, years, 

Driv'n by the fpheres 
Like a vaft fhadow mov , d > In which the world 

And all her train were hurl'd* 
The doting Lover in his queinteft ftrain 

Did there Complain ; 
Neer him, his Lute, his fancy, and his flights, 

Wit's four delights ; 
With gloves^ and knots the filly fnares of pleafure, 

Yet his dear Treafure, 
All fcatter'd lay, while he his eyes did pour 
Upon a flowr. 



The darkfome States-man hung with weights and woe, 
Like a thick midnight-fog, mov'd there fo flow, 

He did nor flay, nor go ; 
Condemning thoughts like fad Ecclipfes fcowl 



OR SACRED POEMS. 97 

Upon his foul, 
And Clouds of crying witnefl'es without 

Purfued him with one ihout. 
Yet digg'd the Mole, and, left his ways be found, 

Workt under, ground, 
Where he did Clutch his prey ; but one did fee 

That policie ; 
Churches and altars fed him ; Perjuries 

Were gnats and flies ; 
Itrain'd about him bloud and tears ; but he 

Drank them as free. 



The fearfull mifer on a heap of ruft 

Sate pining all his life there, did fcarce truft 

His own hands with the dull, 
Yet would not place one peece above, but lives 

In feare of theeves. 
Thoufands there were as; frantick as himfelf, 

And hugg'd each one his pelf; 
The down-right Epicure placed heav'n in fenfe> 

And fcorn'd pretence ; 
While others, flipt into a wide Excefle, 

Said little leffe ; 
The weaker fort flight, triviall wares Inflave, 

Who think them brave, 
And poor, defpifed truth fate Counting by 

Their victory-. 

4. 
Yet fome, who all this while did weep and fing, 
And fing and weep, foar'd up into the Ring ; 

But mod would ufe no wing. 
O fools, faid I, thus to prefer dark night 

H 



98 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Before true light! 
To live in grots and caves, and hate the day 

Becaufe it mews the way, 
The way, which from this dead and dark abode 

Leads up to God, 
A way where you might tread the Sun, and be 

More bright than he 1 
But as I did their madnes fo difcufle 

One whifper'd thus, 
This Ring the Bride-groome did for none provide, 

But for his bride. 

John Cap. 2. ver. 16, 17. 

All that is in the world, the luft of the fie Jh, the 
luft of the Eye, and the pride of life, is not of the Fa- 
ther, but is of the world. 

And the world pajfeth away, and the lufts thereof; 
but he that doth the will of God abideth for ever. 



The Mutinie. 

^Eary of this fame Clay and ftraw I laid 
Me down to breathe, and calling in my 

heart 
The after-burthens and griefs yet to come, 
The heavy fum 
So fhook my breft, that lick and fore difmai'd, 
My thoughts, like water, which fome ftone doth Hart, 
Did quit their troubled Channel, and retire 
Unto the banks, where, llorming at thofe bounds, 
They murmur'd fore ; But I, who felt them boyl 




OR SACRED POEMS. 99 

And knew their Coy], 
Turning to him, who made poor fand to tire 
And tame proud waves, If yet thefe barren grounds 
And thirftie brick mull be, faid I, 
My tafke and Deftinie, 

2. 
Let me fo ftrive and ftruggle with thy foes, 
(Not thine alone, but mine too,) that when all 
Their Arts and force are built unto the height, 

That Babel-weight 
May prove thy glory, and their fhame ; fo Clofe 
And knit me to thee, That though in this vale 
Of fin and death I fojourn, yet one Eie 
May look to thee, To thee the finifher 
And Author of my faith ; fo ihew me home, 

That all this foam 
And frothie noife, which up and down doth flie, 
May find no lodging in mine Eie or Eare ; 
O feal them up I that thefe may flie 

Like other tempefts by. 

3- 

Not but I know thou haft a fhorter Cut 

To bring me home, than through a wildernes, 

A Sea, or Sands, and Serpents ; Yet fince thou, 

As thy words fhow, 
Though in this defart I were wholy fhut, 
Canft light and lead me there with fuch redrefs 
That no decay fhal touch me ; O be pleased 
To fix my fteps ; and whatfoever path 
Thy facred and eternall will decreed 

For thy bruis'd reed, 
O give it full obedience, that fo feiz'd 
Of all I have, I may nor move thy wrath 

LOFfc 



ioo SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Nor grieve thy Dove, but foft and mild 
Both live and die thy Child. 

Revel. Cap. 2. ver. 17. 

To him that overcometh wil I give to eate of the 
hidden Manna ; and I will give him a white ft one, 
and in the ft one a new name written, which no man 
knowethyfaving he that receiveth it. 



The Conftellation. 

Air, ordered lights, whofe motion without 
noife 
Refembles thofe true Joys, 
Whofe fpring is on that hill, where you 
do grow, 
And we here tafte fometimes below, 

With what exa£t obedience do you move 

Now beneath, and now above ! 
And in your vail progrefhons overlook 
The darkeft night, and clofeft nook ! 

Some nights I fee you in the gladfome Eaft, 

Some others near the Weft, 

And when I cannot fee, yet do you mine, 

And beat about your endles line. 

Silence and light and watchfulnes with you 

Attend and wind the Clue ; 

No fleep nor floth aflailes you, but poor man 

Still either fleeps, or flips his fpan. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 101 

He gropes beneath here, and with reftlefs Care, 

Firft makes, then hugs a fnare ; 
Adores dead dull, fets heart on Come and grafs, 
But feldom doth make heav'n his glafs. 

Mufick and mirth, if there be muiick here, 

Take up, and tune his year ; 
Thefe things are Kin to him, and mull be had, 
Who kneels, or fighs a life, is mad. 

Perhaps fome nights he'll watch with you, and peep 

When it were bell to lleep ; 
Dares know Effects, and Judge them long before, 
When th' herb he treads knows much, much 
more. 

But feeks he your Obedience, Order, Light, 

Your talm and wel-train'd flight, 
Where, though the glory differ in each liar, 
Yet is there peace Hill and no war. 

Since plac'd by Him, who calls you by your names, 

And fixt there all your flames, 
Without Command you never acled ought, 
And then you in your courfes fought. 

But here CommiflionM by a black felf-will 

The fons the father kill, 
The Children Chafe the mother, and would heal 
The wounds they give by crying zeale. 

Then Call her bloud and tears upon thy book, 

Where they for falhion look ; 
And, like that Lamb, which had the Dragon's voice, 
Seem mild, but are known by their noife. 



loi SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Thus by our lufts diforder'd into wars 

Our guides prove wandring ftars, 
Which for thefe mifts and black days were refer v'd, 
What time we from our firft love fwerv'd. 

Yet O for his fake who fits now by thee 

All crown'd with victory, 
So guide us through this Darknes, that we may 
Be more and more in love with day ! 

Settle and fix our hearts, that we may move 

In order, peace, and love ; 
And taught obedience by thy whole Creation, 
Become an humble, holy nation ! 

Give to thy fpoufe her perfect and pure drefs, 

Beauty and holinefs ; 
And fo repair thefe Rents, that men may fee 
And fay, Where God is, all agree. 



The Shepheards. 

|Weet, harmlefs lives ! on whofe holy leifure 
Waits Innocence and pleafure, 
Whofe leaders to thofe paftures and cleer 
fprings 

Were Patriarchs, Saints, and Kings; 
How happend it that in the dead of night 

You only faw true light, 
While Paleftine was fall afleep, and lay 

Without one thought of Day ? 
Was it becaufe thofe firft and bleffed fwains 
Were pilgrims on thofe plains, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 103 

When they receiv'd the promife, for which now 

'Twas there firft fhown to you } 
'Tis true, he loves that Dull whereon they go 

That ferve him here below, 
And therefore might for memory of thofe 

His We there firft difclofe ; 
But wretched Salem once his love, muft now 

No voice nor vifion know, 
Her ftately Piles with all their height and pride 

Now languifhed and died, 
And Bethlem's humble Cotts above them ftept, 

While all her Seers flept ; 
Her Cedar, firr, hew'd ftones, and gold were all 

Polluted through their fall. 
And thofe once facred manlions were now 

Meer emptinefs and mow. 
This made the Angel call at reeds and thatch. 

Yet where the fhepheards watch, 
And God's own lodging, though he could not lack, 

To be a common Kack ; 
No coftly pride, no foft-cloath'd luxurie, 

In thofe thin Cels could lie ; 
Each ftirring wind and ftorm blew through their Cots, 

Which never harbour' d plots ; 
Only Content and love and humble joys 

Lived there without all noife ; 
Perhaps fome harmlefs Cares for the next day 

Did in their bofomes play, 
As where to lead their fheep, what filent nook, 

What fprings or fhades to look ; 
But that was all ; And now with gladfome care 

They for the town prepare ; 
They leave their flock, and in a bufie talk 

All towards Bethlem walk 



104 SI LEX SCINTILLANS 

To fee their foul's great fhepheard, who was come, 

To bring all ftraglers home ; 
Where now they find him out, and, taught before, 

That Lamb of God adore, 
That Lamb whofe daies great Kings and Prophets 

And long'd to fee, but miff'd. [wifh'd 

The firft light they beheld was bright and gay, 

And turn'd their night to day ; 
But to this later light they faw in him, 

Their day was dark and dim. 



Mifery. 

I Ord, bind me up, and let me lye 
A Pris'ner to my libertie, 
If fuch a Hate at all can be 
As an Impris'ment ferving thee ; 
The wind, though gather'd in thy fill, 
Yet doth it blow ftill where it lift, 
And yet fhouldft thou let go thy hold 
Thofe gufts might quarrel and grow bold. 

As waters here, headlong and loofe. 
The lower grounds ftill chafe and choofe, 
Where fpreading all the way they feek 
And fearch out every hole and Creek ; 
So my fpilt thoughts, winding from thee, 
Take the down-rode to vanitie, 
Where they all ftray and ftrive, which fhal! 
Find out the firft and fteepeft fall. 
I cheer their flow, giving fupply 
To what's already grown too high, 
And having thus perform' d that part 




OR SACRED POEMS. 105 

Feed on thofe vomits of my heart. 

I break the fence my own hands made, 

Then lay that trefpaiTe in the made ; 

Some fig-leafs ftil I do devife, 

As if thou hadft nor ears nor Eyes. 

ExcefTe of friends, of words, and wine 

Take up my day, while thou doll mine 

All unregarded, and thy book 

Hath not fo much as one poor look. 

If thou Heal in amidfl the mirth 

And kindly tell me, / am Earth, 

I fhut thee out, and let that flip, 

Such Mufick fpoils good fellowship. 

Thus wretched I and moll: unkind, 

Exclude my dear God from my mind, 

Exclude him thence, who of that Cell 

Would make a Court, mould he there dwell. 

He goes, He yields ; And troubled fore 

His Holy Spirit grieves therefore ; 

The mighty God, th' eternal King 

Doth grieve for Dull, and Dull doth fing. 

But I go on, hafle to Diveft 

My felf of reafon, till oppreft 

And buried in my forfeits I 

Prove my own ihame and miferie. 

Next day I call and cry for thee 

Who fhouldfl not then come neer to me ; 

But now it is thy fervant's pleafure 

Thou mult and doll give him his meafure. 

Thou doll, thou com'fl, and in a fhower 

Of healing fweets thy felf doll pour 

Into my wounds ; and now thy grace 

(I know it well,) fills all the place ; 

I fit with thee by this new light, 



106 SILEX SCINT1LLANS 

And for that hour thou'rt my delight ; 
No man can more the world defpife, 
Or thy great mercies better prize. 
I School my Eyes, and ftri&ly dwell 
Within the Circle of my Cell ; 
That Calm and filence are my Joys, 
Which to thy peace are but meer noife. 
At length I feel my head to ake, 
My fingers Itch, and burn to take 
Some new Imployment, I begin 
To fwell and foame and fret within. 
" The Age, the prefent times are not 
" To J nudge in, and embrace a Cot ; 
" Aclion and bloud now get the game, 
" Difdein treads on the peaceful name; 
" Who Jits at home too bears a loade 
" Greater than thofe that gad abroad" 
Thus do I make thy gifts giv'n me 
The only quarrellers with thee ; 
I'd loofe thofe knots thy hands did tie, 
Then would go travel, fight, or die. 
Thoufands of wild and wafte Infufions 
Like waves beat on my refolutions ; 
As flames about their fuel run, 
And work and wind till all be done, 
So my fierce foul bullies about, 
And never refts till all be out. 
Thus wilded by a peevifh heart, 
Which in thy mufick bears no part, 
I florin at thee, calling my peace 
A Lethargy, and meer difeafe ; 
Nay thofe bright beams fhot from thy eyes 
To calm me in thefe mutinies, 
I flile meer tempers, which take place 



OR SACRED POEMS. 107 

At fome fet times, but are thy grace. 

Such is man's life, and fuch is mine, 
The worft of men, and yet Hill thine, 
Still thine, thou know'ft, and if not fo, 
Then give me over to my foe. 
Yet fince as eafie 'tis for thee 
To make man good as bid him be, 
And with one glaunce, could he that gain, 
To look him out of all his pain, 
O fend me from thy holy hill 
So much of llrength, as may fulfil 
All thy delights whate'er they be, 
And facred Inilitutes in me ! 
Open my rockie heart, and fill 
It with obedience to thy will ; 
Then feal it up, that as none fee, 
So none may enter there but thee. 

O hear, my God ! hear Him, whofe bloud 
Speaks more and better for my good ! 
O let my Crie come to thy throne ! 
My crie not pour'd with tears alone, 
(For tears alone are often foul,) 
But with the bloud of all my foul ; 
With fpirit-fighs, and earneft grones, 
Faithful and moll repenting mones, 
With thefe I crie, and crying pine, 
Till thou both mend, and make me thine. 



The Sap. 

Ome, faplefs BloiTom, creep not ftill on 
Earth 

Forgetting thy fir ft birth ! 
'Tis not from dull; or if fo, why doll thou 




108 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Thus call and thirft for dew ? 
It tends not thither; if it doth, why then 

This growth and ftretch for heav'n ? 
Thy root fucks but difeafes ; worms there feat, 

And claim it for their meat. 
Who plac'd thee here did fomething then Infufe, 

Which now can tell thee news. 
There is beyond the Stars an hill of myrrh, 

From which fome drops fall here ; 
On it the Prince of Salem fits, who deals 

To thee thy fecret meals ; 
There is thy Country, and He is the way, 

And hath withal the key. 
Yet liv'd He here fometimes, and bore for thee 

A world of miferie, 
For thee, who in the firft man's loyns didft fall . 

From that hill to this vale ; 
And had not he fo done, it is moll true 

Two deaths had been thy due ; 
But going hence, and knowing well what woes 

Might his friends difcompofe, 
To mew what ftrange love He had to our good, 

He gave his facred bloud, 
By will our fap and Cordial ; now in this 

Lies fuch a heav'n of blifs, 
That who but truly taftes it, no decay 

Can touch him any way. 
Such fecret life and vertue in it lies, 

It will exalt, and rife, 
And actuate fuch fpirits as are fhed, 

Or ready to be dead ; 
And bring new too. Get then this fap, and get 

Good ftore of it, but let 
The veflel where you put it be for fure 



OR SACRED POEMS. 109 

To all your pow'r moft pure ; 
There is at all times, though fhut up, in you 

A powerful, rare dew, 
Which only grief and love extract ; with this 

Be fure, and never mifs, 
To wafh your vefTel well : Then humbly take 

This balm for fouls that ake ; 
And one who drank it thus afliires that you 

Shal find a Joy fo true, 
Such perfect Eafe, and fuch a lively fenfe 

Of grace againft all fins, 
That you'll Confefs the Comfort fuch, as even 

Brings to, and comes from, Heaven. 



Mount of Olives. 

•;Hen firft I faw true beauty, and thy Joys 
Active as light, and calm without all 

noife, 
Shin'd on my foul, I felt through all my 
powr's 
Such a rich air of fweets, as Evening fhowrs 
Fand by a gentle gale Convey, and breathe 
On fomeparch'd bank, crown'd with a flowrie wreath; 
Odors, and Myrrh, and balm in one rich floud 
O'r-ran my heart, and fpirited my bloud ; 
My thoughts did fwim in Comforts, and mine eie 
Confeft, The world did only paint and lie. 
And where before I did no fafe Courfe fleer, 
But wander'd under tempefts all the year ; 
Went bleak and bare in body as in mind, 
And was blow'n through by every florin and wind, 




no SILEX SCINTILLANS 

I am fo warm'd now by this glance on me, 
That midft all ftorms I feel a Ray of thee. 
So have I known fome beauteous Paifage rife 
In fuddain flowres and arbours to my Eies, 
And in the depth and dead of winter bring 
To my Cold thoughts a lively fenfe of fpring. 

Thus fed by thee, who doll all beings nourifh, 
My wither'd leafs again look green and flourifh ; 
I mine and fhelter underneath thy wing, 
Where rick with love I ftrive thy name to fing ; 
Thy glorious name ! which grant I may fo do, 
That thefe may be tby Praife, and my Joy too ! 



Man. 

^Eighing the ftedfaftnefs and Hate 
Of fome mean things which here below 

refide, 
Where birds like watchful Clocks the 
noifelefs date 
And Intercourfe of times divide, 
Where Bees at night get home and hive, and flowrs, 

Early as well as late, 
Rife with the Sun, and fet in the fame bowrs ; 

2. 
I would, faid I, my God would give 
The ftaidnefs of thefe things to man ! for thefe 
To His divine appointments ever cleave, 

And no new bufmefs breaks their peace ; 
The birds nor fow nor reap, yet fup and dine, 
The flowres without clothes live, 
Yet Solomon was never dreft fo fine. 




OR SACRED POEMS. in 

3- 
Man hath Hill either toyes or Care ; 
He hath no root, nor to one place is ty'd, 
But ever refllefs and Irregular 

About this Earth doth run and ride* 
He knows he hath a home, but fcarce knows where ; 

He fayes it is fo far, 
That he hath quite forgot how to go there. 

4« 

He knocks at all doors, ftrays and roams ; 
Nay hath not fo much wit as fome Hones have, 
Which in the darker! nights point to their homes 

By fome hid fenfe their Maker gave ; 
Man is the fhuttle, to whofe winding quell 

And paifage through thefe looms 
God order'd motion, but ordain'd no reft. 



11 



Walkt the other day, to fpend my hour, 

Into a field, 
Where I fometimes had feen the foil to 
yield 
A gallant flowre ; 
But Winter now had ruffled all the bowre 
And curious ftore 
I knew there heretofore. 



Yet I, whofe fearch lov'd not to peep and peer 
Fth* face of things, 




ii2 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Thought with my felf, there might be other fprings 

Befides this here, 
Which, lijce cold friends, fees us but once a year ; 
And fo the flowre 
Might have fome other bowre. 

3- 

Then taking up what I could neereft fpie, 

I digg'd about 
That place where I had feen him to grow out ; 

And by and by 
I faw the warm Reclufe alone to lie, 

Where frefh and green 
He lived of us unfeen. 

4- 
Many a queftion Intricate and rare 

Did I there flrow ; 
But all I could extort was, that he now 

Did there repair 
Such lofles as befel him in this air, 
And would ere long 
Come forth moft fair and young. 

5- 
This paft, I threw the Clothes quite oer his head ; 

And Hung with fear 
Of my own frailty dropt down many a tear 

Upon his bed; 
Then fighing whifper'd, Happy are the dead! 
What peace doth now 
Rock him ajleep below ! 

6. 

And yet, how few believe fuch doctrine fprings 
From a poor root, 



OR SJCRED POEMS. 113 

Which all the Winter fleeps here under foot, 

And hath no wings 
To raife it to the truth and light of things ; 
But is itil trod 
By ev'ry wandring clod. 

7- • 
O Thou ! whofe fpirit did at firfl inflame 

And warm the dead, 
And by a facred Incubation fed 

With life this frame, 
Which once had neither being, forme, nor name ; 
Grant I may fo 
Thy Heps track here below, 

8. 
That in thefe Mafques and fhadows I may fee 

Thy facred way ; 
And by thofe hid afcents climb to that day, 

Which breaks from Thee, 
Who art in all things, though invifibly ! 
Shew me thy peace, 
Thy mercy, love, and eafe ! 

9- 
And from this Care, where dreams and forrows raign, 

Lead me above, 
Where Light, Joy, Leifure, and true Comforts move 

Without all pain ; 
There, hid in thee, mew me his life again* 
At whofe dumbe urn 
Thus all the year I mourn ! 




ii4 SILEX SCINTILLJNS. 



Begging. 

Ing of Mercy, King of Love, 
In whom I live, in whom I move, 
Perfect what thou haft begun, 
Let no night put out this Sun. 
Grant I may, my chief defire, 

Long for thee, to thee afpire ! 

Let my youth, my bloom of dayes 

Be my Comfort, and thy praife ; 

That hereafter, when I look 

O'er the fullyed, iinful book, 

I may find thy hand therein 

Wiping out my fhame and fin ! 

O it is thy only Art 

To reduce a ftubborn heart ; 

And fince thine is viclorie, 

Strong holds mould belong to thee ; 

Lord, then take it, leave it not 

Unto my difpofe or lot ; 

But fince I would not have it mine, 

O my God, let it be thine ! 

Jude ver. 24, 25, 

Now unto him that is able to keep us from falling, 
and to prefent us faultlefs before the prefence of 
his glory with exceeding joy, 

To the only wife God, our Saviour, be glory, and 
majefty, Dominion and power, now and ever, Amen. 

End of the First Part. 



SILEX SCINTILLANS. 

PART II. 




Silex Scintillans, &c. 

Afceniion-day. 

§Ord Jefus ! with what fweetnefs and delights* 
Sure, holy hopes, high joys, and quickning 

flights, 
Doll thou feed thine ! O thou ! the hand 
that lifts 
To him who gives all good and perfect gifts, 
Thy glorious, bright Afcenfion, though remov'd 
So many Ages from me, is fo prov'd 
And by thy Spirit feal'd to me, that I 
Feel me a fharer in thy vidtory ! 
I foar and rife 
Up to the Ikies, 

Leaving the world their day ; 
And in my flight 
For the true light 

Go feeking all the way ; 
I greet thy Sepulchre, falute thy Grave, 
That bleft inclofure, where the Angels gave 
The firft glad tidings of thy early light, 
And refurredtion from the earth and night. 
I fee that morning in thy # Convert's tears, 

* St, Mary Magdalene* 



n8 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Frefti as the dew, which but this dawning wears. 

I fmell her fpices ; and her ointment yields, 

As rich a fcent as the now Primros'd -fields. 

The Day-liar fmiles, and light with the deceaft 

Now mines in all the Chambers of the Ealt. 

What flirs, what polling intercourfe and mirth 

Of Saints and Angels glorifie the earth ? 

What fighs, what whifpers, bulie Hops and Hays; 

Private and holy talk fill all the ways ? 

They pafs as at the lall great day, and run 

In their white robes to feek the rifen Sun ; 

I fee them, hear them, mark their halle, and move 

Amongll them, with them, wing'd with faith and love. 

Thy forty days more fecret commerce here 

After thy death and Funeral, fo clear 

And indifpu table, fhews to my fight 

As the Sun doth, which to thofe days gave light. 

I walk the fields of Bethany, which lhine 

All now as frefh as Eden, and as fine. 

Such was the bright world on the firlt feventh day, 

Before man brought forth fin, and fin decay ; 

When like a Virgin clad in Flowers and green 

The pure earth fat, and the fair woods had feen 

No froll, but flourifiVd in that youthful veil, 

With which their great Creator had them drell : 

When Heav'n above them Ihin'd like molten glafs, 

While all the Planets did unclouded pafs ; 

And Springs, like difiblv'd Pearls their Streams did pour 

Ne'er marr'd with floods, nor angered with a fhowre. 

With thefe fair thoughts I move in this fair place, 

And the lall Heps of my milde Mailer trace. 

I fee Him leading out his chofen Train 

All fad with tears, which like warm Summer rain 

In filent drops Ileal from their holy eyes, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 119 

Fix'd lately on the Crofs, now on the ikies. 

And now, eternal Jefus ! thou doll heave 

Thy blelTed hands to blefs thofe thou doll leave. 

The cloud doth now receive thee, and their light 

Having loll thee, behold two men in white ! 

Two and no more : what two attefi is true, 

Was thine own anfwer to the llubborn Jew. 

Come then, thou faithful witnefs ! come, dear Lord, 

Upon the Clouds again to judge this world ! 



Afcenfion-Hymn. 

' Uil and clay, 

Man's antient wear, 
Here you mull flay, 
But I elfewhere ! 

Souls fojourn here, but may not reft ; 

Who will afcend mull be undreft, 

And yet fome, 

That know to die 

Before death come, 

Walk to the fkie 
.Even in this life ; but all fuch can 
Leave behinde them the old Man. 

If a liar 

Should ]eave the Sphasre, 

She mull firfl mar 

Her flaming wear, 
And after fall, for in her drefs 
Of glory, fhe cannot tranfgrefs. 




izo SILEX SCINT1LLJNS 

Man of old 

Within the line 

Of Eden could 

Like the Sun fhine, 
All naked, innocent and bright, 
And intimate with Heav'n, as light ; 

But iince he 

That brightnefs foil'd, 

His garments be 

All dark and fpoil'd, 
And here are left as nothing worth, 
Till the Refiner's lire breaks forth. 

Then comes he ! 

Whofe mighty light 

Made his cloathes be 

Like Heav'n all bright ; 
The Fuller, whofe pure blood did flow, 
To make ftain'd man more white than fnow. 

Hee alone 

And none elfe can 

Bring bone to bqne 

And rebuild man ; 
And by his all-fubduing might 
Make clay afcend more quick than light. 



Hey are all gone into the world of light ! 
And I alone fit lingring here ! 
Their very memory is fair and bright, 
And my fad thoughts doth clear. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 121 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breft 

Like liars upon fome gloomy grove, 
Or thofe faint beams in which this hill is dreft 
After the Sun's remove. 

I fee them walking in an Air of glory, 

Whofe light doth trample on my days ; 
My days, which are at beft but dull and hoary, 
Meer glimering and decays. 

O holy hope ! and high humility ! 
High as the Heavens above ! 
Thefe are your walks, and you have fhew'd them me 
To kindle my cold love. 

Dear, beauteous death ; the Jewel of the Juft ! 

Shining no where but in the dark ; 
What myfleries do lie beyond thy duft, 
Could man outlook that mark ! 

He that hath found fome fledg'd bird's neft may know 

- At firfl fight if the bird be flown ; 
But what fair Dell or Grove he fings in now, 
That is to him unknown. 

And yet, as Angels in fome brighter dreams 
Call to the foul when man doth fleep, 
So fome ftrange thoughts tranfcend our wonted theams, 
And into glory peep. 

If a ftar were confin'd into a Tomb, 

Her captive flames muft needs burn there ; 
But when the hand that lockt her up gives room, 
She'll ihine through all the fphaere. 



122 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

O Father of eternal life, and all 
Created glories under thee ! 
Refume thy fpirit from this world of thrall 
Into true liberty ! 

Either difperfe thefe mills, which blot and fill 

My perfpeclive frill as they pafs ; 
Or elfe remove me hence unto that hill, 
Where I fhall need no glafs. 



White Sunday. 

Ellcome, white day ! a thoufand Suns, 
Though feen at once, were black to thee ! 
For after their light darknefs comes ; 
But thine mines to eternity. 

Thofe flames, which on the Apoftles rufh'd 
At this great feaft, and in a tyre 
Of cloven Tongues their heads all brufh'd, 
And crown 'd them with Prophetic fire, — 

Can thefe new lights be like to thofe, 
Thefe lights of Serpents like the Dove ? 
Thou hadit no gall ev'n for thy foes, 
And thy two wings were Grief 'and Love. 

Though then fome boaft that fire each day, 
And on Chrift's coat pin all their fhreds ; 
Not fparing openly to fay, 
His candle mines upon their heads ; 

Yet while fome rays of that great light 
Shine here below within thy Book, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 123 

They never fhall fo blinde my fight 
But I will know which way to look. 

For though thou doeft that great light lock, 
And by this lefTer commerce keep : 
Yet by thefe glances of the flock 
I can difcern Wolves from the Sheep. 

Not but that I have wifhes too, 
And pray, Thefe laft may be as firft, 
Or better ; but thou long ago 
Haft faid, Thefe laft fhould be the worft. 

Befides, thy method with thy own, 
Thy own dear people, pens our times ; 
Our ftories are in theirs fet down, 
And penalties fpread to our Crimes. 

Again, if worft and worft implies 
A State that no redrefs admits, 
Then from thy Crofs unto thefe days 
The rule without Exception fits. 

And yet, as in night's gloomy page 
One iilent ftar may interline ; 
So in this laft and lewdeft age 
Thy antient love on fome may fhine. 

For though we hourly breathe decays, 
And our beft note and higheft eafe 
Is but meer changing of the keys, 
And a Confumption that doth pleafe ; 

Yet thou the great eternal Rock 
Whofe height above all ages fhines, 



i2 4 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Art Hill the fame, and canfl unlock 
Thy waters to a foul that pines. 

Since then thou art the fame this day 
And ever as thou wert of old, 
And nothing doth thy love allay, 
But our heart's dead and finful cold ; 

As thou long lince wert pleas'd to buy 
Our drown'd eftate, taking the Curfe 
Upon thy felf, fo to deftroy 
The knots we tyed upon thy purfe, 

So let thy grace now make the way 
Even for thy love ; for by that means 
We, who are nothing but foul clay, 
Shall be fine gold which thou didft cleanfe. 

O come ! refine us with thy fire ! 
Refine us ! we are at a lofs. 
Let not thy ftars for Balaam's hire 
DifTolve into the common drofs ! 



The Proffer. 

\E ftill, black Parafites, 
Flutter no more ; 
Were it ftill winter, as it was before, 
You'd make no flights ; 
But now the dew and Sun have warm'd my bowres, 
You flie and flock to fuck the flowers. 

But you would honey make : 
Thefe buds will wither, 




- • 



OR SACRED POEMS. 125 

And what you now extract, in harder weather 

Will ferve to take ; 
Wife hufbands will, you fay, their wants prevent, 
Who do not fo too late repent. 

O poyfonous, fubtile fowls ! 

The flyes of hell, 

That buz in every ear, and blow on fouls, 

Until they fmell, 
And rot, defcend not here, nor think to Hay ! 
I've read, who 'twas drove you away. 

Think you thefe longing eyes, 
Though fick and Ipent, 
And almoft famifh'd, ever will confent 

To leave thofe ikies, 
That glafs of fouls and fpirits, where well dreft 
They ihine in white, like liars, and reft. 

Shall my Ihort hour, my inch, 
My one poor fand, 
And crum of life now ready to difband, 

Revolt and flinch ; 
And having born the burthen all the day, 
Now call at night my Crown away ? 

No, No ; I am not he ; 
Go feek elfe where ! 
I Ikill not your line tinfel, and falfe hair, 

Your Sorcery, 
And fmooth feducements : Fie not Huff my ilory 
With your poor Commonwealth and glory. 

There are that will fow tares 
And fcatter death 



iz6 SILEX SC INTILLANS 

Amongft the quick, felling their fouls and breath 

For any wares ; 
But when thy Mailer comes, they'll finde and fee, 
There's a reward for them and thee. 

Then keep the antient way! 
Spit out their phlegm, 
And fill thy breft with home ; think on thy dream : 

A calm, bright day ! 
A Land of flowers and fpices ! the word given. 
If tbefe be fair y O what is Heaven! 



Cock-crowing. 

Ather of lights ! what Sunnie feed, 

What glance of day haft thou confin'd 

Into this bird ? To all the breed 

This bufie Ray thou haft affign'd ; 

Their magnetifme works all night, 

And dreams of Paradife and light. 

Their eyes watch for the morning-hue, 

Their little grain expelling night 

So fhines and lings, as if it knew 

The path unto the houfe of light. 

It feems their candle, howe'r done, 
Was tinn'd and lighted at the funne. 

If fuch a tincture, fiich a touch, 
So firm a longing can impowre, 
Shall thy own image think it much 
To watch for thy appearing hour ? 




OR SACRED POEMS. 127 

If a meer blaft fo fill the fail, 

Shall not the breath of God prevail ? 

O thou immortall light and heat ! 

Whofe hand fo fhines through all this frame, 

That by the beauty of the feat, 

We plainly fee who made the fame. 

Seeing thy feed abides in me, 
Dwell thou in it, and I in thee ! 

To fleep without thee is to die ; 

Yea, 'tis a death partakes of hell : 

For where thou doit not clofe the eye 

It never opens, I can tell. 

In fuch a dark, ^Egyptian border, 
The fhades of death dwell and diforder. 

If joyes, and hopes, and earneft throes, 
And hearts, whofe Pulfe beats ftill for light, 
Are given to birds ; who, but thee, knows 
A love-lick foul's exalted flight ? 

Can fouls be tracFd by any eye 

But his, who gave them wings to flie ? 

Onely this Veyle which thou haft broke, 

And muft be broken yet in me, 

This veyle, I fay, is all the cloke 

And cloud which fhadows me from thee. 

This veyle thy full-ey'd love denies, 
And onely gleams and fractions fpies. 

O take it off! make no delay ; 

But brum me with thy light, that I 

May fhine unto a perfect day,* 

And warme me at thy glorious Eye ! 
O take it off! or till it flee, 
Though with no Lilie, flay with me ! 




128 SILEX SCINTILLANS 



The Starre. 

Hat -ever 'tis, whofe beauty here below 
Attracts thee thus, and makes thee ftream 

and flow, 
And wind and curie, and wink and fmile, 
Shifting thy gate and guile, 



Though thy clofe commerce nought at all imbarrs 
My prefent fearch, for Eagles eye not ftarrs ; 
And frill the lefler by the beft 
And higheft good is bleft ; 

Yet, feeing all things that fubfift and be 

Have their CommilTions from Divinitie, 

And teach us duty, I will fee 

What man may learn from thee. 

Firft, I am fure, the Subject fo refpected 
Is well-difpofed ; for bodies, once infected, 

Deprav'd, or dead, can have with thee 
No hold, nor fympathie. 

Next, there's in it a reftlefs, pure defire 
And longing for thy bright and vitall fire, 

Defire that never will be quench'd, 

Nor can be writh'd nor wrench'd. 

Thefe are the Magnets* which fo flrongly move 
And work all night upon thy light and love ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 129 

As beauteous fhapes, we know not why, 
Command and guide the eye. 

For where defire, celeftiall, pure defire, 

Hath taken root, and grows, and doth not tire, 

There God a Commerce Hates, and flieds 
His Secret on their heads. 

This is the Heart he craves ; and who fo will 
But give it him, and grudge not ; he mail feel 
That God is true, as herbs unfeen 
Put on their youth and green. 



The Palm-tree. 

[ Eare friend, fit down, and bear awhile this 
made, 
As I have yours long fince ; This Plant, 
you fee 

So preft and bow'd, before fin did degrade 
Both you and it, had equall liberty 

With other trees : but now fhut from the breath 

And air of Eden y like a mal-content 

It thrives no where. This makes thefe weights like 

death 
And fin, hang at him ; for the more he's bent 

The more he grows. Celeftial natures Hill 
Afpire for home; This Solomon of old 
By flowers and carvings and myfterious ikill 
Of Wings, and Cherubims> and Palms foretold. 




%%q SILEX SCINTILLJNS 

This is the life which hid above with Chrift 
In God, doth always hidden multiply, 
And fpring, and grow, a tree ne'r to be priced, 
A Tree, whofe fruit is immortality. 

Here fpirits that have run their race, and fought, 
And won the fight, and have not feared the frowns 
Nor lov'd the fmiles of greatnefs, but have wrought 
Their mailer's will, meet to receive their Crowns. 

Here is the patience of the Saints : this Tree 
Is water'd by their tears, as flowers are fed 
With dew by night ; but One you cannot fee 
Sits here, and numbers all the tears they fhed. 

Here is their faith too, which if you will keep 
When we two part, I will a journey make 
To pluck a Garland hence while you do fleep, 
And weave it for your head againft you wake. 



J°y- 

x E dumb, coarfe meafures ; jar no more ; 
to me 
There is no difcord but your harmony, 
Falfe, jugling founds ; a grone well dreft 
where care 
Moves in difguife, and lighs afflict the air. 
Sorrows in white ; griefs tun'd ; a fugerd Dofis 
Of Wormwood, and a Death's-head crown'd with 

Rofes. 
He weighs not your forc'd accents, who can have 
A leflbn plaid him by a winde or wave. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 131 

Such numbers tell their days, whofe fpirits be 
Lull'd by thofe Charmers to a Lethargy. 

But as for thee, whofe faults long iince require 
More eyes than flars, whofe breath, could it afpire 
To equal winds, would prove too fhort : Thou hall 
Another mirth, a mirth, though overcaft 
With clouds and rain, yet full as calm and fine 
As thofe clear heights which above tempefts fhine. 
Therefore while the various fhowers 
Kill and cure the tender flowers, 
While the winds refrefh the year 
Now with clouds, now making clear, 
Be fure under pains of death 
To ply both thine eyes and breath. 
As leafs in Bowers 
Whifper their hours, 
And Hermit-wells 
Drop in their Cells : 
So in flghs and unfeen tears 
Pafs thy folitary years, 
And going hence leave written on fome Tree, 
Sighs make joy Jure, and /baking f aft em thee. 



The Favour. 

Thy bright looks ! thy glance of love 
Shown, and but fhown^.me from above ! 
Rare looks !. that can difpenfe fuch joy 
As without wooing wins the coy, 

And makes him mourn, and pine and dye,. 

Like a ftarv'd Eaglet, for thine eye. 

Some kinde herbs here, though low and far, 





132 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Watch for, and know their loving ftar. 
O let no ftar compare with thee ! 
Nor any herb out-duty me ! 
So fhall my nights and mornings be 
Thy time to fhine, and mine to fee. 



The Garland. 

• Hou, who doft flow and flourifh here below, 
To whom a falling ftar and nine dayes' 

glory, [fhew, 

Or fome frail beauty makes the braveft 
Hark, and make ufe of this enfuing ftory. 

When firft my youthfull, fmfull age 

Grew mafter of my wayes, 
Appointing errour for my Page, 

And darknefle for my dayes ; 
I flurig away, and with full crie 

Of wild affections, rid 
In poft for pleafures, bent to trie 

All gamefters that would bid. 
I played with fire, did counfell fpurn, 

Made life my common ftake ; 
But never thought that fire would burn, 

Or that a foul could ake. 
Glorious deceptions, gilded mifts, 

Falfe joyes, phantaftick flights, 
Peeces of fackcloth with filk lifts, 

Thefe were my prime delights. 
I fought choice bowres, haunted the ipring, 

Cull'd flowres and made me pofies ; 



OR SACRED POEMS. 133 

Gave my fond humours their full wing, 

And crown'd my head with Rofes. 
But at the height of this Careire 

I met with a dead man, 
Who, noting well my vain Abear, 

Thus unto me began : 
Deiift, fond fool, be not undone, 

What thou hall cut to day 
Will fade at night, and with this Sun 

Quite vaniih and decay. 

Flowres gathered in this world, die here ; if thou 
Wouldft have a wreath that fade snot, let them grow, 
And grow for thee. Who fp ares them here,Jhallfind 
A Garland, where comes neither rain, nor wind. 



Love-fick. 

\ ESUS, my life ! how fhall I truly love 

thee ? 
O that thy Spirit would fo ftrongly move 

me; 

That thou wert pleafed to filed thy grace fo farr 
As to make man all pure love, flefh a ftar ! 
A ftar that would ne'r fet, but ever rife, 
So rife and run, as to out-run thefe ikies, 
Thefe narrow ikies (narrow to me) that barre, 
So barre me in, that I am ftill at warre, 
At conftant warre with them. O come and rend, 
Or bow the heavens ! Lord bow them and defcend, 
And at thy prefence make thefe mountains flow, 
Thefe mountains of cold Ice in me ! Thou art 




i 3 4 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Refining fire, O then refine my heart, 

My foul, foul heart ! Thou art immortall heat ; 

Heat motion gives ; Then warm it, till it beat, 

So beat for thee, till thou in mercy hear, 

So hear, that thou mull open : open to 

A finfull wretch, A wretch that caus'd thy woe ; 

Thy woe, who caus'd his weal ; fo far his weal 

That thou forgott'ft thine own, for thou didft feal 

Mine with thy blood, thy blood which makes thee 

mine, 
Mine ever, ever ; And me ever thine. 



Trinity-Sunday. 




Holy, blefTed, glorious three, 

Eternall witneffes that be 

In heaven, One God in trinitie ! 



As here on earth, when men with-ftood, 
The Spirit, Water, and the Blood, 
Made my Lord's Incarnation good : 

So let the Anty-types in me 
Elected, bought, and feal'd for free, 
Be own'd, fav'd, Sainted by you three ! 




OR SACRED POEMS. 135 



Pfalme 104. 

P, O my foul, and bleffe the Lord ! O God, 
My God, how great, how very great art 

thou! 
Honour and majefty have their abode 
With thee, and crown thy brow. 

Thou cloath'ft thy felf with light, as with a robe, 
And the high, glorious heav'ns thy mighty hand 
Doth fpread like curtains round about this globe 
Of Air, and Sea, and Land. 

The beams of thy bright Chambers thou doft, lay 

In the deep waters, which no eye can find ; 
The clouds thy chariots are, and thy path-way 
The wings of the fwift wind. 

In thy celeftiall, gladfome meflages 
. Difpatch'd to holy fouls, rick with defire 
And love of thee, each willing Angel is 
Thy minifter in fire. 

Thy arm unmoveable for ever laid 

And founded the firm earth ; then with the deep 
As with a vail thou hidft it ; thy floods plaid 
Above the mountains fteep. 

At thy rebuke they fled, at the known voice 

Of their Lord's thunder they retir'd apace : 
Some up the mountains pall by fecret ways, 

Some downwards to their place. 



136 S1LEX SCINTILLANS 

For thou to them a bound haft fet, a bound, 

Which, though but fand, keeps in and curbs whole 
feas : 
There all their fury, foame and hideous found 
Muft languifh and decreafe* 

And as thy care bounds thefe, fo thy rich love 

Doth broach the earth ; and leffer brooks lets forth, 
Which run from hills to valleys, and improve 
Their pleafure and their worth. 

Thefe to the beafts of every field give drink ; 

There the wilde affes fwallow the cool fpring r 
And birds amongft the branches on their brink 
Their dwellings have and fing. 

Thou from thy upper Springs above, from thofe 

Chambers of rain, where Heav'n's large bottles lie, 
Doeft water the parch'd hills, whofe breaches clofe 
Heal'd by the fhowers from high. 

Grafs for the cattel, and herbs for man's ufe 

Thou mak'ft to grow ; thefe, bleft by thee, the earth 
Brings forth, with wine, oyl, bread : All which infufe 
To man's heart ftrength and mirth. 

Thou giv'ft the trees their greennefs, ev'n to thofe 

Cedars in Lebanon, in whofe thick boughs 
The birds their nefts build ; though the Stork doth 
The fir-trees for her houfe. [choofe 

To the wilde goats the high hills ferve for folds, 

The rocks give Conies a retyring place : 
Above them the cool Moon her known courfe holds, 
And the Sun runs his race. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 137 

Thou makeft darknefs, and then comes the night ; 

In whofe thick ihades and filence each wilde beaft 
Creeps forth, and pinch'd for food, with fcent and 
fight 
Hunts in an eager queft. 

The Lyon's whelps impatient of delay 

Roar in the covert of the woods, and feek 
Their meat from thee, who doeft appoint the prey, 
And feed'ft them all the week. 

This paft ; the Sun mines on the earth ; and they 

Retire into their dens ; Man goes abroad 
Unto his work, and at the clofe of day 
Returns home with his load. 

O Lord my God, how many and how rare 

Are thy great works ! In wifdom haft thou made 
Them all ; and this the earth, and every blade 
Of grafs we tread declare. 

So doth the deep and wide fea, wherein are 
Innumerable, creeping things, both fmall 
And great : there fhips go, and the fhipmen's fear, 
The comely fpacious Whale. 

Thefe all upon thee wait, that thou maift feed 

Them in due feafon : what thou giv'ft they take ; 
Thy bounteous open hand helps them at need, 
And plenteous meals they make. 

When thou doeft hide thy face (thy face which keeps 

All things in being) they confume and mourn : 
When thou with-draw'ft their breath their vigour 
fleeps, 

And they to duft return. 



138 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Thou fend'ft thy fpirit forth, and they revive, 

The frozen earth's dead face thou doft renew. 
Thus thou thy glory through the world doft drive, 
And to thy works art true. 

Thine eyes behold the earth, and the whole ftage 

Is mov'd and trembles, the hills melt and fmoke 
With thy leaft touch ; lightnings and winds that rage 
At thy rebuke are broke. 

Therefore as long as thou wilt give me breath 

I will in fongs to thy great name imploy 
That gift of thine, and to my day of death 
Thou fhalt be all my joy. 

He fpice my thoughts with thee, and from thy word 

Gather true comforts ; but the wicked liver 
Shall be confum'd. O my foul, blefs thy Lord ! 
Yea, blefTe thou him for ever ! 



The Bird. 

|Ither thou com'ft. The bulie wind all night 
Blew through thy lodging, where thy own 

warm wing 
Thy pillow was. Many a fullen florin, 
For which coarfe man feems much the fitter born, 
Rain'd on thy bed 
And harmlefs head ; 




And now as frefh and chearful as the light 
Thy little heart in early hymns doth ling 
Unto that Providence, whofe unfeen arm 



1 



OR SACRED POEMS. 139 

Curb'd them, and cloath'd thee well and warm. 
All things that be praife Him ; and had 
Their lefTon taught them when firft made. 

So hills and valleys into ringing break ; 

And though poor Hones have neither fpeech nor tongue, 

While active winds and ftreams both run and fpeak, 

Yet Hones are deep in admiration. 

Thus Praife and Prayer here beneath the Sun 

Make lefTer mornings, when the great are done. 

For each inclofed Spirit is a ftar 

Inlightning his own little fphaere, 
Whofe light, though fetcht and borrowed from far, 

Both mornings makes and evenings there. 

But as thefe Birds of light make a land glad, 
Chirping their folemn Matins on each, tree : 
So in the fhades of night fome dark fowls be, 

Whofe heavy notes make all that hear them fad. 

The Turtle then in Palm-trees mourns, 
While Owls and Satyrs howl ; 
. The pleafant Land to brimftone turns, 
And all her Hreams grow foul. 

Brightnefs and mirth, and love and faith, all flye, 
Till the Day-fpring breaks forth again from high. 



The Timber. 

Ure thou didft flourifh once ! and many 
Springs, 
Many bright mornings, much dew, many 
fhowers 




Ho S1LEX SCINTILLJNS 

Paft ore thy head : many light Hearts and Wings, 
Which now are dead, lodg'd in my living bowers. 

And ftill a new fucceffion lings and flies ; 

Frefh Groves grow up, and their green branches 
ihoot 
Towards the old and ftill enduring ikies ; 

While the low Violet thrives at their root. 

But thou beneath the fad and heavy Line 

Of death doth wafte all fenfelefs, cold and dark ; 

Where not fo much as dreams of light may fhine, 
Nor any thought of greennefs, leaf or bark. 

And yet, as if fome deep hate and diflent, 

Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee, 

Were ftill alive, thou doft great ftorms refent, 

Before they come, and know'ft how near they be. 

Elfe all at reft thou lyeft, and the fierce breath 
Of tempefts can no more difturb thy eafe ; 

But this thy ftrange refentment after death 

Means onely thofe who broke in life thy peace. 

So murthered man, when lovely life is done, 
And his blood freez'd, keeps in the Center ftill 

Some fecret fenfe, which makes the dead blood run 
At his approach that did the body kill. 

And is there any murth'rer worfe than lin ? 

Or any ftorms more foul than a lewd life ? 
Or what Refentient can work more within, 

Than true remorfe, when with paft fins at ftrife ? 

He that hath left life's vain joys and vain care, 
And truly hates to be detain'd on earth, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 141 

Hath got an houfe where many manfions are, 
And keeps his foul unto eternal mirth. 

But though thus dead unto the world, and ceas'd 
From fin, he walks a narrow, private way ; 

Yet grief and old wounds make him fore difpleas'd, 
And all his life a rainy, weeping day. 

For though he mould forfake the world, and live 
As meer a ftranger, as men long fince dead ; 

Yet joy it felf will make a right foul grieve 
To think, he mould be fo long vainly led. 

But as ftiades fet off light, fo tears and grief, 

Though of themfelves but a fad blubber'd ftory, 

By fhewing the fin great, fhew the relief 

Far greater, and fo fpeak my Saviour's glory. 

If my way lies through deferts and wilde woods, 
Where all the Land with fcorching heat is curft ; 

Better the pools fhould flow with rain and floods 
To fill my bottle than I die with thirft. 

Bleft fhowers they are, and ftreams fent from above, 
Begetting Virgins where they ufe to flow ; 

The trees of life no other waters love, 

Than upper fprings, and none elfe make them grow. 

But thefe chafte fountains flow not till we dye ; 
Some drops may fall before, but a clear fpring 
And ever running, till we leave to fling 

Dirt in her way, will keep above the fkie. 

Rom. Cap. 6. ver. 7. 
He that is dead, is freed from Jin. 




H2 SILEX SCINTILLANS 



The Jews. 

'Hen the fair year 

Of your Deliverer comes, 
And that long froft which now benums 
Your hearts fhall thaw ; when Angels here 
Shall yet to man appear, 
And familiarly confer 
Beneath the Oke and Juniper ; 

When the bright Dove, 
Which now thefe many, many Springs 
Hath kept above, 
Shall with fpread wings 
Defcend, and living waters flow 
To make drie duft, and dead trees grow ; 

O then that I 
Might live, and fee the Olive bear 
Her proper branches ! which now lie 

Scattered each where ; 
And without root and fap, decay 
Caft by the hufband-man away. 

And fure it is not far ! 
For as your faft and foul decays, 

Forerunning the bright morning liar, 
Did fadly note His healing rayes 
Would fhine elfewhere, fince you were blind, 
And would be crofs, when God was kinde,— 

So by all figns 
Our fulnefs too is now come in ; 

And the fame Sun, which here declines 
And fets, will few hours hence begin 



OR SACRED POEMS. 143 

To rife on you again, and look 
Towards old Mamre and EficoFs brook. 

For furely he 
Who lov'd the world fo, as to give 

His onely Son to make it free, 
Whofe fpirit too doth mourn and grieve 
To fee man loft, will for old love 
From your dark hearts this veil remove. 

Faith fojourn'd firft on earth in you, 

You were the dear and chofen ftock : 
The Arm of God, glorious and true, 
♦ Was firft reveal'd to be your rock. 

You were the eldeft childe, and when 

Your ftony hearts defpifed love, 
The youngeft, ev'n the Gentiles, then 

Were chear'd your jealoufie to move. 

Thus, Righteous Father ! doeft thou deal 

With Brutifh men ; Thy gifts go round 
By turns, and timely, and fo heal 
- The loft Son by the newly found. 



Begging. 

Ye Do not go ! thou know'ft, Fll dye ! 
My Spring and Fall are in thy book ! 
Or, if thou goeft, do not deny 

To lend me, though from far, one look! 



My fins long fmce have made thee ftrange, 
A very ftranger unto me ; 




H4 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

No morning-meetings fince this change, 
Nor evening- walks have I with thee. 

Why is my God thus flow and cold, 
When I am. moll, moil fick and fad ? 

Well fare thole blelTed days of old, 

When thou didfl hear the weeping Lad!* 

O do not thou do as I did, 

Do not defpife a Love-lick heart ! 

What though fome clouds defiance bid, 
Thy Sun mull Ihine in every part. 

Though I have fpoiPd, O fpoil not thou ! 

Hate not thine own dear gift and token ! 
Poor birds ling bell, and prettieil Ihow, 

When their nell is fain and broken. 

Dear Lord ! rellore thy ancient peace, 

Thy quikning friendlhip, mans bright wealth ! 

And if thou wilt not give me eafe 

From licknelTe, give my fpirit health ! 



Palm-Sunday. 

Ome, drop your branches, llrow the way, 
Plants of the day ! 
Whom fufferings make moll green and 

* IJhmaeh 




OR SACRED POEMS. 145 

The King of grief, the man of forrow, 

Weeping ftill like the wet morrow, 

Your fhades and frefhnefs comes to borrow. 

Put on, put on your beft array ; 
Let the joy'd road make holy-day, 
And flowers, that into fields do ftray 
Or fecret groves, keep the high-way. 

Trees, flowers and herbs ; birds, beads and ftones, 

That fince man fell expect with groans 

To fee the Lamb, come all at once, 

Lift up your heads and leave your moans ! 

For here comes he 

Whofe death will be 
Man's life, and your full liberty. 

Hark ! how the children fhrill and high 

Hofanna cry ; 
Their joys provoke the diflant fkie, 
Where thrones and Seraphins reply ; 
And their own Angels fhine and ring 

In a bright ring : 

Such yong, fweet mirth 

Makes heaven and earth 
Joyn in a joyful Symphony. 

The harmlefs, yong and happy Afs, 
Seen long before* this came to pafs, 
Is in thefe joys an high partaker, 
Ordain'd and made to bear his Maker. 

Dear feaft of Palms, of Flowers and Dew ! 
Whofe fruitful dawn fheds hopes and lights ; 

* Zecbariah, chap. 9. <ver. 9. 
L 



i 4 6 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Thy bright folemnities did fhew, 

The third glad day through two fad nights. 

I'll get me up before the Sun, 

* I'll cut me boughs off many a tree, 

And all alone full early run 

To gather flowers to wellcome thee. 

Then like the Palm, though wronged I'll bear, 
I will be ftill a childe, ftill meek 

As the poor Afs, which the proud jear, 
And onely my dear J ejus feek. 

If I lofe all, and muft endure 

The proverb'd griefs of holy Job, 

I care not, fo I may fecure 

But one green Branch and a white robe. 



Jefus weeping. 

S. Luke 19. ver. 41. 

LefTed, unhappy City ! dearly lov'd, 
But ftill unkinde ! Art this day nothing 
mov'd ? 
Art fenfelefs ftill ? Q can'ft thou fleep 
When God himfelf for thee doth weep ? 
StiiF-necked Jews I your father's breed 
That ferv'd the calf, not Abr*an?s feed, 
Had not the Babes Hofanna cryed, 
The ftones had fpoke what you denyed. 

Dear Jefus, weep on 1 pour this latter 
Soul quickning rain, this living water 




OR SACRED POEMS. 147 

On their dead hearts ; but (O my fears !) 
They will drink blood that defpife tears. 
My dear, bright Lord ! my Morning-ftar ! 
Shed this live-dew on fields which far 
From hence long for it ! fhed it there, 
Where the ftarv'd earth groans for one tear ! 

This land, though with thy heart's bleft extract fed, 
Will nothing yield but thorns to wound thy head. 



The Daughter of Herodias. 

St. Mattb. cbap. 14. per. 6. &c. 



Ain, finful Art ! who firft did fit 
Thy lewd loath'd Motions unto founds, 
And made grave Mufique, like wilde wit, 
Erre in loofe airs beyond her bounds, 



What fires hath he heap'd on his head ! 
Since to his fins, as needs it muft, 
His Art adds frill, though he be dead, 
New frefh accounts of blood and lufh 

Leave then,* yong Sorcerefs ; the Ice 
Will thofe coy fpirits call afleep,. 
Which teach thee now to pleafe % his eyes 
Who doth thy lothfome mother keep. 

* Her name was Salome ; in fcajjitig over a frozen river, the 
broke under her, and cho-^t off her head. 
t Herod Antipas. 




ice 



143 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

But thou haft pleas'd fo well, he fwears, 
And gratifies thy fin with vows ; 
His fhamelefs lull in publick wears, 
And to thy foft arts ftrongly bows. 

Skilful Inchantrefs, and true bred ! 
Who out of evil can bring forth good ! 
Thy mother's nets in thee were fpred, 
She tempts to Inceft, thou to blood. 




Jefus weeping. 

St. John chap. n. ver. 35* 

|Y dear, Almighty Lord ! why doft thou 
weep ? 
Why doft thou groan and groan again ? 
And with fuch deep, 
Repeated fighs thy kinde heart pain ? 
Since the fame facred breath, which thus 

Doth Mourn for us, 
Can make man's dead and fcatter'd bones 
Unite, and raife up all that dyed at once ? 

O holy groans ! Groans of the Dove! 
O healing tears ! the tears of love ! 
Dew of the dead ! which makes duft move 
And fpring, how is't that you fo fadly grieve, 
Who can relieve ? 

Should not thy fighs refrain thy ftore 
Of tears, and not provoke to more ? 



OR SJCRED POEMS. 149 

Since two afflictions may not raign 

In one at one time, as fome feign. 

Thofe blafls, which o'er our heads here flray, 

If fhowers then fall, will ihowers allay ; 

As thofe poor Pilgrims oft have tryed, 

Who in this windy world abide. 

Dear Lord ! thou art all grief and love ; 
But which thou art moll, none can prove. 
Thou griev'fl, man fhould himfelf undo, 
And lov'fl him, though he works thy wo. 

'Twas not that vail, almighty meafure 

Which is requir'd to make up life, 

Though purchafed with thy heart's dear treafure, 

Did breed this flrife 
Of grief and pity in thy brefl, 
The throne where peace and power refl : 
But 'twas thy love that, without leave, 
Made thine eyes melt, and thy heart heave. 
For though death cannot fo undo 
What thou hafl done, yea though man too 
Should help to fpoil, thou canil reflore 
All better far than 'twas before. 
Yet thou fo full of pity art, 
Pity which overflows thy heart ! 
That, though the Cure of all man's harm 
Is nothing to thy glorious arm, 
Yet canfl not thou that free Cure do, 
But thou mull forrow for him too. 

Then farewell joys ! for while I live, 
My bufinefs here fhall be to grieve : 
A grief that fhall outfhine all joys 



150 SILEX SCINT1LLANS 

For mirth and life, yet without noife. 
A grief, whofe filent dew fhall breed 
Lilies and Myrrhe, where the curs'd feed 
Did fometimes rule. A grief fo bright, 
'Twill make the Land of darknefs light ; 
And while too many fadly roam, 
Shall fend me Swan-like iinging home. 

Pfal. 73. ver. 25. 

Whom have I in heaven but thee ? and there is 
none upon earth, that I defire befides thee. 



Providence. 

lAcred and fecret hand ! 
By whofe affifting, fwift command 
The Angel fhewd that holy Well, 
Which freed poor Hagar from her 
fears, 
And turn'd to fmiles the begging tears 
Of yong, diftreffed IjhmaeL 

How in a myftick Cloud 
Which doth thy ftrange fure mercies fhroud, 
Doeft thou convey man food and money, 
Unfeen by him till they arrive 
Juft at his mouth, that thanklefs hive, 
Which kills thy Bees, and eats thy honey ! 

If I thy fervant be, 
Whofe fervice makes ev'n captives free, 
A fifh fhall all my tribute pay, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 151 

The fwift-wing'd Raven fhall bring me meat, 
And I like Flowers fhall frill go neat. 
As if I knew no month but May. 

I will not fear what man 

With all his plots and power can. 

Bags that wax old may plundered be ; 
But none can fe'quefter or let 
A ftate that with the Sun doth fet, 

And comes next morning frefh as he. 

Poor birds this do&rine ring, 
And herbs which on dry hills do fpring, 
Or in the howling wildernefs 

Do know thy dewy morning hours, 
And watch all night for mitts or mowers, 
Then drink and praife thy bounteoufnefs. 

May he for ever dye 
Who trulls not thee ! but wretchedly 
Hunts gold and wealth, and will not lend 

Thy fervice nor his foul one day ! 

May his Crown, like his hopes, be clay ; 
And what he faves, may his foes fpend ! 

If all my portion here, 
The meafure given by thee each year, 
Were by my cauflefs enemies 

Ufurp'd ; it never mould me grieve, 
Who know how well thou canft relieve, 
Whofe hands are open as thine eyes. 

Great King of love and truth ! 
Who would'ft not hate my froward youth, 




152; SILEX SCINTILLANS 

And wilt not leave me when grown old ; 
Gladly will I, like P on tick fheep, 
Unto my wormwood-diet keep, 

Since thou haft made thy Arm my fold. 



The Knot. 

5f| Right Queen of Heaven ! God's Virgin 
Spoufe ! 
The glad world's blefled maid ! 
Whofe beauty tyed life to thy houfc, 
And brought us faving ayd. 

Thou art the true Loves-knot ; by thee 

God is made our Allie ; 
And man's inferior EfTence He 

With His did dignifie. 

For Coalefcent by that Band 

We are His body grown, 
Nourifhed with favors from His hand 

Whom for our head we own. 

And fuch a Knot what arm dares loofe, 
What life, what death can fever ? 

Which us in Him, and Him in us 5 
United keeps for ever. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 153 



The Ornament. 

He lucky world fhewd me one day 

Her gorgeous Mart and glittering flore., 
Where with proud hafle the rich made way 
To buy, the poor came to adore. 

Serious they feem'd and bought up all 
The lateft Modes of pride and lull ; 

Although the firfb mull furely fall, 
And the laft is mofl loathfome dull. 

But while each gay, alluring ware 

With idle hearts and buiie looks 
They viewd, for idlenefs hath there 

Laid up all her Archives and books, 

Quite through their proud and pompous file 
Bluftiing, and in meek weeds array'd, 

With native looks which knew no guile, 
Came the fheep-keeping Syrian Maid. 

Whom flrait the mining Row all fac'd, 
Forc'd by her artlefs looks and drefs ; 

While once cryed out, We are difgrac'd ! 
For fhe is braveil, you confefs. 




iS4 SILEX SCINTILLANS 



St. Mary Magdalen. 

Ear, beauteous Saint ! more white than day, 
When in his naked, pure array ; 
Frefher than morning-flowers which 
fhew 

As thou in tears doft, beft in dew. 
How art thou chang'd, how lively-fair, 
Pleafing and innocent an air, 
Not tutor'd by thy glafs, but free, 
Native and pure, Ihines now in thee ! 
But fince thy beauty doth Hill keep 
Bloomy and frefh, why doft thou weep ? 
This dufky ftate of fighs and tears 
Durft not look on thofe fmiling years, 
When Magdal-caftle was thy feat, 
Where all was fumptuous, rare and neat. 
Why lies this Hair defpifed now 
Which once thy care and art did fhew ? 
Who then did drefs the much lov'd toy, 
In Spires, Globes, angry Curls and coy, 
Which with fkill'd negligence feem'd fhed 
About thy curious, wilde, young head ? 
Why is this rich, this Piftic Nard 
Spilt, and the box quite broke and marr'd ? 
What pretty fullennefs did hafte 
Thy eafie hands to do this wafte ? 
Why art thou humbled thus, and low 
As earth thy lovely head doft bow ? 
Dear Soul! thou knew'ft, flowers here on earth 
At their Lord's foot-ftool have their birth ; 
Therefore thy wither'd felf in hafte 



OR SACRED POEMS. 155 

Beneath his bleft feet thou didft call, 

That at the root of this green tree 

Thy great decays reftor'd might be. 

Thy curious vanities and rare, 

Odorous ointments kept with care, 

And dearly bought, when thou didft fee 

They could not cure nor comfort thee ; 

Like a wife, early Penitent, 

Thou fadly didft to him prefent, 

Whofe interceding, meek and calm 

Blood, is the world's all-healing Balm. 

This, this Divine Reftorative 

Call'd forth thy tears, which ran in live 

And hafty drops, as if they had 

(Their Lord fo near) fenfe to be glad. 

Learn, Ladies, here the faithful cure 

Makes beauty lafting, frefh and pure ; 

Learn Mary's art of tears, and then 

Say, You have got the day from men. 

Cheap, mighty Art ! her Art of love, 

Who lov'd much, and much more could move ; 

Her Art ! whofe memory muft laft 

Till truth through all the world be paft ; 

Till his abus'd, defpifed flame 

Return to Heaven, from whence it came, 

And fend a fire down, that fhall bring 

Deftru&ion on his ruddy wing. 

Her Art ! whofe penfive, weeping eyes, 

Were once fins loofe and tempting fpies ; 

But now are fixed ftars, whofe light 

Helps fuch dark ftraglers to their fight. 

Self-boafting Pharifee ! how blinde 
A Judge wert thou, and how unkinde ! 



156 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

It was impoflible, that thou, 

Who wert all falfe ihould'ft true grief know. 

Is't juft to judge her faithful tears 

By that foul rheum thy falfe eye wears ? 

This Woman, fay'ft thou, is a firmer ! 
And fate there none fuch at thy dinner ? 
Go Leper, go ! wafh till thy flefh 
Comes like a childe's fpotlefs and frefh ; 
He is frill leprous that ftill paints : 
Who Saint themfelves, they are no Saints. 



The Rain-bow. 

iTill young and fine ! but what is Hill in 
view 
We flight as old and foil'd, though frefh 
and new. 

How bright wert thou, when Shem's admiring eye 
Thy burnifht, flaming Arch did fir ft defcry ! 
When Terah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot, 
The youthful world's gray fathers in one knot, 
Did with intentive looks watch every hour 
For thy new light, and trembled at each fhower ! 
When thou doft fhine darknefs looks white and fair, 
Forms turn to Mufick, clouds to fmiles and air : 
Rain gently fpends his honey-drops, and pours 
Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grafs and flowers. 
Bright pledge of peace and Sun-fhine ! the fure tye 
Of thy Lord's hand, the *objecl: of His eye ! 

* Gen. chap. 9. *oer, 16. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 157 

When I behold thee, though my light be dim, 
Diftant and low, I can in thine fee Him, 
Who looks upon thee from His glorious throne, 
And mindes the Covenant 'twixt All and One. 

foul, deceitful men ! my God doth keep 
His promife ftill, but we break ours and fleep. 
After the Fall the firft fin was in Blood, 

And Drunkennefs quickly did fucceed the flood; 

But iince Chrift dyed, (as if we did devife 

To lofe him too, as well as Paradife,) 

Thefe two grand fins we joyn and act together, 

Though blood and drunkenefs make but foul, foul 

weather. 
Water, though both Heaven's windows and the deep 
Full forty days o'r the drown'd world did weep, 
Could not reform us, and blood in defpight, 
Yea God's own blood, we tread upon and flight. 
So thofe bad daughters, which God fav'd from fire, 
While Sodom yet did fmoke lay with their fire. 

Then peaceful, fignal bow, but in a cloud 

Still lodged, where all thy unfeen arrows fhrowd ; 

1 will on thee as on a Comet look, 

A Comet, the fad world's ill-boding book ; 

Thy light as luctual and ftain'd with woes 

I'll judge, where penal flames fit mixt and clofe. 

For though fome think, thou fhin'ft but to reftrain 

Bold ftorms, and fimply doft attend on rain ; 

Yet I know well, and fo our fins require, 

Thou doft but Court cold rain, till Rain turns Fire. 




158 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

The Seed growing fecretly. 

S. Mark. 4. 26. 

F this world's friends might fee but once 
What fome poor man may often feel, 
Glory and gold and Crowns and Thrones, 
They would foon quit, and learn to kneel. 

My dew, my dew ! my early love, 

My foul's bright food, thy abfence kills ! 

Hover not long, eternal Dove ! 

Life without thee is loofe and fpills. 

Something I had, which long ago 
Did learn to fuck and lip and tafte ; 

But now grown fickly, fad and flow, 
Doth fret and wrangle, pine and wafte. 

O fpred thy facred wings, and fhake 
One living drop ! one drop life keeps ! 

If pious griefs Heaven's joys awake, 
O fill his bottle ! thy childe weeps ! 

Slowly and fadly doth he grow, 

And foon as left ihrinks back to ill ; 

O feed that life, which makes him blow 
And fpred and open to thy will ! 

For thy eternal, living wells 

None ftain'd or wither'd fhall come near : 
A frefh, immortal green there dwells, 

And fpotlefs white is all the wear. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 159 

Dear, fecret Greennefs ! nurfl below ! 

Tempefts and windes and winter-nights, 
Vex not, that but one fees thee grow, 

That One made all thefe leiTer lights. 

If thofe bright joys He fingly fheds 
On thee, were all met in one Crown, 

Both Sun and Stars would hide their heads ; 

And Moons, though full, would get them down. 

Let glory be their bait, whofe mindes 

Are all too high for a low Cell : 
Though Hawks can prey through dorms and winds, 

The poor Bee in her hive mull dwell. 

Glory, the croud's cheap tinfel, flill 
To what moll takes them is a drudge ; 

And they too oft take good for ill, 
And thriving vice for vertue judge. 

What needs a Confcience calm and bright 

Within itfelf an outward tell ? 
Who breaks his glafs to take more light, 

Makes way for florms into his refl. 

Then blefs thy fecret growth, nor catch 
At noife, but thrive unfeen and dumb ; 

Keep clean, bear fruit, earn life, and watch, 
Till the white winged Reapers come ! 




i6o SILEX SCINTILLANS 



f 

^S time one day by me did pafs, 
Through a large duiky glaffe 
He held, I chanc'd to look, 
And fpyed.his curious book 

Of pail days, where fad Heav'n did fried 

A mourning light upon the dead. 

Many difordered lives I faw, 

And foul records which thaw 
My kinde eyes Hill, but in • 

A fair, white page of thin 
And ev'n, fmooth lines, like the Sun's rays, 
Thy name was writ, and all thy days. 

O bright and happy Kalendar ! 

Where youth, mines like a flar 
All pearl'd with tears, and may 
Teach age The Holy way ; 
Where through thick pangs, high agonies, 
Faith into life breaks, and death dies. 

As fome meek night-piece, which day quails, 
To candle-light unveils : 
So by one beauty line 
From thy bright lamp did mine 
In the fame page thy humble grave, 
Set with green herbs, glad hopes and brave. 

Here flept my thought's dear mark ! which dull 
Seem'd to devour like ruft ; 
But dull, I did obferve, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 161 

By hiding doth preferve ; 
As we for long and fure recruits, 
Candy with fugar our choice fruits. 

O calm and facred bed, where lies 
In death's dark myfteries 
A beauty far more bright 
Than the noon's cloudlefs light ; 
For whofe dry duft green branches bud, 
And robes are bleach'd in the Lamb's blood. 

Sleep, happy allies ! bleiTed fleep ! 

While hapleffe I ftill weep ; 

Weep that I have out liv'd 

My life, and unreliev'd 
Muft, foul-Me fhadow ! fo live on, 
Though life be dead, and my joys gone. 



f 



k Air and yong light ! my guide to holy 
Grief, and foul-curing melancholy ; 
Whom living here I did ftill fhun 
As fullen night-ravens do the Sun, 

And led by my own foolifh fire 

Wandred through darknefs, dens and mire. 

How am I now in love with all 

That I term'd then meer bonds and thrall ! 

And to thy name, which ftill I keep, 

Like the furviving turtle weep ! 

O bitter curs'd delights of men ! 

Our foul's difeafes firft> and then 

M 




i62 SILEX SCINT1LLANS 

Our body's : poyfons that intreat 

With fatal fweetnefs, till we eat ; 

How artfully do you deftroy, 

That kill with fmiles and feeming joy ! 

If all the fubtilties of vice 

Stood bare before unpractic'd eyes, 

And every a6l fhe doth commence 

Had writ down its fad confequence, 

Yet would not men grant, their ill fate 

Lodged in thofe falfe looks, till too late. 

holy, happy, healthy heaven, 
Where all is pure, where all is even, 
Plain, harmlefs,, faithful, fair and bright, 
But what Earth breaths againft thy light I 
How bleft had men been, had their Sire 
Liv'd ftill in league with thy chafte fire ; 
Nor made life through her long defcents 
A flave to luftful Elements !. 

1 did once read in an old book 
Soil'd with many a weeping look, 
That the feeds offoulforrows be 
The fine Ji things that are to fee. 

So that fam'd fruit, which made all dye 
Seem'd fair unto the woman's eye* 
If thefe fupplanters in the made 
Of Paradife could make man fade, 
How in this world mould they deter, 
This world, their fellow-murtherer ! 
And why then grieve we to be fent 
Home by our firlt fair punifhment, 
Without addition to our woes 
And lingring wounds from weaker foes ; 
Since that doth quickly freedom win, 
For he that's dead is freed from fin P 



OR SACRED POEMS. 

O that I were winged and free 
And quite undreft juft now with thee, 
Where freed fouls dwell by living fountains 
On everlafting, fpicy mountains ! 

Alas ! my God ! take home thy fheep ; 

This world but laughs at thofe that weep. 



163 



The Stone. 




yojh. chap. 24. ver. 2J. 

Have it now : 

But where to act that none fhall know ; 

Where I fhall have no caufe to fear 
An eye or ear, 

What man will fhow ? 
If nights, and fhades, and fecret rooms, 

Silent as tombs, 
Will not conceal nor affent to 
My dark deligns, what fhall I do ? 
Man I can bribe, and woman will 
Confent to any gainful ill, 
But thefe dumb creatures are fo true, 
No gold nor gifts can them fubdue. 
Hedges have ears, faith the old footh, 
And ev'ry bujh is fomething s booth ; 
This cautious fools miftake, and fear 
Nothing but man when ambufh'd there. 

But I Alas ! 
Was fhown one day in a ftrange glafs 
That bufie commerce kept between 
God and his Creatures, though unfeen. 



1 64 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

They hear, fee, fpeak, 
And into loud difcoveries break, 
As loud as blood. Not that God needs 
Intelligence, whofe fpirit feeds 
All things with life, before whofe eye, 
Hell and all hearts Hark naked lye. 
But*he that judge th as he hears, 
He that accufeth none, fo fleers 
His righteous courfe, that though he knows 
All that man doth, conceals or fhows, 
Yet will not he by his own light, 
Though both all-feeing and all right, 
Condemn men ; but will try them by 
A procefs, which ev'n man's own eye 
Mull needs acknowledge to be jufl. 

Hence fand and dull 
Are fhak'd for witneffes, and Hones, 
Which fome think dead, fhall all at once 
With one attefling voice detect 
Thofe fecret lins we leafl fufpecl:. 
For know, wilde men, that when you erre 
Each thing turns Scribe and Regifler, 
And in obedience to his Lord, 
Doth your moll private fins record. 

The Law delivered to the Jews, 
Who promis'd much, but did refufe 
Performance, will for that fame deed 
Againfl them by & ft one proceed; 
Whofe fubflance, though 'tis hard enough, 
Will prove their hearts more fliff and tuff. 
But now, fince God on himfelf took 

* John chap. 5. ver. 30, 45. 






OR SACRED POEMS. 165 

What all mankinde could never brook, 
If any (for He all invites) 
His eafie yoke rejects or flights, 
The Go/pel then, for 'tis His word, 
And not himfelf* fhall judge the world, 
Will by loofe Duft that man arraign, 
As one than duft more vile and vain. 



The dwelling-place. 

S. John, chap. 1. ver. 38, 39. 

£Hat happy, fee ret fountain, 
Fair made, or mountain, 
Whofe undifcover'd virgin glory 
Boafts it this day, though not in ftory, 
Was then thy dwelling ? did fome cloud, 
Fix'd to a Tent, defcend and fhrowd 
My diftreft Lord ? or did a ftar, 
Beckon'd by thee, though high and far, 
In fparkling fmiles hafte gladly down 
To lodge light and increafe her own ? 
My dear, dear God ! I do not know 
What lodged thee then, nor where, nor how ; 
But I am fure thou doft now come 
Oft to a narrow, homely room, 
Where thou too haft but the leaft part ; 
My God, I mean my finful heart. 

* St. John, chap. 12. ver. 47, 48. 





266 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

The Men of War. 

S. Luke, chap. 23. ver. 1 1. 

' F any have an ear, 
Saith holy* John, then let him hear ! 
He, that into Captivity 
Leads others, Jhall a Captive be. 
Who with the fw or d doth others kill, 
A /word Jhall his blood likewife fpill. 
Here is the patience of the Saints, 
And the true faith which never faints. 

Were not thy word, dear Lord ! my light, 

How would I run to endlefs night, 

And perfecuting thee and thine, 

Enact for Saints myfelf and mine ! 

But now enlighten'd thus by thee, 

I dare not think fuch villany ; 

Nor for a temporal felf-end 

Succefsful wickednefs commend. 

For in this bright, inftru&ing verfe 

Thy Saints are not the Conquerors ; 

But patient, meek, and overcome 

Like thee, when fet at naught and dumb. 

Armies thou haft in Heaven, which fight 

And follow thee all cloath'd in white; 

But here on earth, though thou hadft need, 

Thou wouldft no legions, but wouldft bleed. 

The fword wherewith thou doll command 

Is in thy mouth, not in thy hand, 

* Revel, cap. 13. ver. 10. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 167 

And all thy Saints do overcome 

By thy blood, and their Martyrdom. 

But feeing Soldiers long ago 

Did fpit on thee, and fmote thee too ; 

Crown'd thee with thorns, and bow'd the knee, 

But in contempt, as Hill we fee, 

Pie marvel not at ought they do, 

Becaufe they us'd my Savior fo ; 

Since of my Lord they had their will, 

The fervant mull not take it ill. 



Dear J ejus, give me patience here, 
And faith to fee my Crown as near, 
And almofl reach'd, becaufe 'tis fure 
If I hold fail, and flight the Lure.. 
Give me humility and peace, 
Contented thoughts, innoxious eafe, 
A fweet, revengelefs, quiet minde, 
And to my greateil haters kinde. 
Give me, my God ! a heart as milde 
And plain, as when I was a childe. 
That when thy Throne is Jet, and all 
Thefe Conquerors before it fall, 
I may be found preferv'd by thee 
Amongil that chofen company, 
Who by no blood here overcame 
But the blood of the blejjed Lamb, 




i68 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

The Afs. 

St. Matt. 21. 

*Hou! who didft place me in this buiie ftreet 
Of flefh and blood, where two ways meet : 
The One of goodnefs, peace and life, 
The other of death, fin and ft rife ; 

Where frail vifibles rule the minde, 

And prefent things flnde men moil kinde ; 

Where obfcure cares the mean defeat, 

And fplendid vice deftroys the great/ 

As thou didft fet no law for me, 

But that of perfecl liberty, 

Which neither tyres, nor doth corrode, 

But is a Pillow y not a Load : 

So give me grace ever to reft, 

And build on it becaufe the beft ; 

Teach both mine eyes and feet to move 

Within thofe bounds fet by thy love ; 

Grant I may foft and lowly be, 

And minde thofe things I cannot fee ; 

Tye me to faith, though above reafon, 

Who queftion power they fpeak treafon : 

Let me, thy Afs, be onely wife 

To carry, not fearch, myfteries. 

Who carries thee is by thee led ; 

Who argues follows his own head. 

To check bad motions, keep me ftill 

Amongft the dead, where thriving ill, 

Without his brags and conquefts, lies, 



OR SJCRED POEMS. 169 

And truth, opprefl here, gets the prize. 
At all times, whatfoe'r I do 
Let me not fail to queftion, who 
Shares in the aft, and puts me to't ? 
And if not thou, let not me do't. 
Above all, make me love the poor, 
Thofe burthens to the rich man's door ; 
Let me admire thofe, and be kinde 
To low eflates and a low minde. 
If the world offers to me nought, 
That by thy book muft not be fought, 
Or, though it mould be lawful, may 
Prove not expedient for thy way, 
To ihun that peril let thy grace 
Prevail with me to fhun the place ; 
Let me be wife to pleafe thee flill, 
And let men call me what they will. 

When thus thy milde, inftructing hand 
Findes thy poor foal at thy command, 
When he from wilde is become wife, 
And flights that moil, which men mofl prize ; 
When all things here to thirties turn 
Pricking his lips, till he doth mourn 
And hang the head, iighing for thofe 
P allures of life, where the Lamb goes : 
O then, jufl then ! break or untye 
Thefe bonds, this fad captivity, 
This leaden Hate which men mifcal 
Being and life, but is dead thrall. 
And when, O God ! the Afs is free, 
In a ilate known to none but thee, 
O let him by his Lord be led 
To living fprings, and there be fed, 
Where light, joy, health, and perfect peace 




i;o SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Shut out all pain and each difeafe ; 

Where death and frailty are forgotten 

And bones rejoyce, which once were broken ! 



The hidden Treafure. 
S. Matt. 13. 44. 

lHat can the man do thatfucceeds the* King f 
Even what was done before, and no new 

thing. 
Who fhews me but one grain of fincere 
light? 
Falfe ftars and fire-drakes, and deceits of night, 
Set forth to fool and foil thee, do not boaft ; 
Such Coal-flames fhew but Kitchin-rooms at moll. 
And thofe I faw fearch'd through ; yea thofe and all, 
That thefe three thoufand years time did let fall 
To blinde the eyes of lookers-back, and I 
Now all is done, iinde all is vanity. 
Thofe fecret fearches which afflict the wife, 
Paths that are hidden from the Vultures eyes, 
I faw at diftance, and where grows that fruit 
Which others onely grope for and difpute. 

The world's lov'd wifdom, for the world's friends 
think 
There is none elfe, did not the dreadful brink 
And precipice it leads to bid me flie 
None could with more advantage ufe than I. 

Man's favourite fins, thofe tainting appetites, 
Which nature breeds, and fome fine clay invites, 

* Ecclejiaftes, chap. 2. 12. 



OR SJCRED POEMS. 171 

With all their foft, kinde arts and eafie (trains, 
Which ftrongly operate, though without pains, 
Did not a greater beauty rule mine eyes, 
None would more dote on, nor fo foon entice. 
But fince thefe fweets are fowre and poyfon'd here, 
Where the impure feeds flourifh all the year, 
And private Tapers will but help to ftray 
Ev'n thofe, who by them would finde out the day, 
I'le ieal my eyes up, and to thy commands 
Submit my wilde heart, and reftrain my hands ; 
I will do nothing, nothing know, nor fee 
But what thou bidft, and fhew'ft, and teacheft me. 
Look what thou gav'ft ; all that I do reftore, 
But for one thing, thou purchas'd once before. 



Childe-hood. 

Cannot reach it ; and my driving eye 

Dazles at it, as at eternity. 

Were now that Chronicle alive, 

Thofe white defigns which children drive, 
And the thoughts of each harmlefs hour, 
With their content too in my pow'r, 
Quickly would I make my path even, 
And by meer playing go to Heaven. 

Why mould men love 
A Wolf, more than a Lamb or Dove ? 
Or choofe hell-fire and brimftone ftreams 
Before bright-ftars and God's own beams ? 
Who kifTeth thorns will hurt his face, 
But flowers do both refrefh and grace ; 




172 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

And fweetly living (fie on men ! ) 
Are, when dead, medicinal then. 
If feeing much mould make ftaid eyes, 
And long experience mould make wife ; 
Since all that age doth teach is ill, 
Why mould I not love childe-hood ftill ? 
Why, if I fee a rock or fhelf, 
Shall I from thence call down my felf, 
Or by complying with the world, 
From the fame precipice be hurl'd ? 
Thofe obfervations are but foul, 
Which make me wife to lofe my foul. 

And yet the Practice worldlings call 
Bufinefs and weighty action all, 
Checking the poor childe for his play, 
But gravely call themfelves away. 

Dear, harmlefs age ! the fhort, fwift fpan 
Where weeping virtue parts with man ; 
Where love without lull dwells, and bends 
What way we pleafe without felf-ends. 

An age of myfleries ! which he 
Mull live twice that would God's face fee ; 
Which Angels guard, and with it play, 
Angels ! which foul men drive away. 

How do I fludy now, and fcan 
Thee more than ere I fludyed man, 
And onely fee through a long night 
Thy edges and thy bordering light ! 
O for thy Center and mid-day ! 
For fure that is the narrow way ! 



OR SACRED POEMS. 



*73 




The Night. 

John 3. 2. 

Hrough that pure Virgin-Jhrine, 
That facred vail drawn o'er thy glorious 

noon, 
That men might look and live, as Glo- 
worms mine, 
And face the Moon, 
Wife Nicodemus faw fuch light 
As made him know his God by night. 

Moft bleft believer he ! 
Who in that land of darknefs and blind e eyes 
Thy long expected healing wings could fee, 
When thou didft rife ; 
And, what can never more be done, 
Did at mid-night fpeak with the Sun ! 

O who will tell me, where 
He found thee at that dead and filent hour ? 
What hallow'd folitary ground did bear 
So rare a flower ; 
Within whofe facred leafs did lie 
The fulnefs of the Deity ? 

No mercy-feat of gold, 
To dead and dully Cherub, nor carved Hone, 
But his own living works, did my Lord hold 
And lodge alone ; 



174 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Where trees and herbs did watch and peep 
And wonder, while the Jews did fleep. 

Dear night ! this world's defeat ; 
The flop to bufie fools ; care's check and curb ; 
The day of Spirits ; my foul's calm retreat 
Which none diflurb ! 
Cbrift's * progrefs, and his prayer time ; 
The hours to which high Heaven doth chime. 

God's filent, fearching flight : 
When my Lord's head is filled with dew, and all 
His locks are wet with the clear drops of night; 
His ftill, foft call; 
His knocking time ; The foul's dumb watch, 
When fpirits their Fair Kindred catch. 

Were all my loud, evil days 
Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark Tent, 
Whofe peace but by fome Angel's wing or voice 
Is feldom rent ; 
Then I in Heaven all the long year 
Would keep, and never wander here. 

But living where the Sun 
Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tyre 
Themfelves and others, I confent and run 
To cv 9 ry myre ; 
And by this world's ill guiding light, 
Erre more than I can do by night. 

There is in God, fome fay, 
A deep, but dazzling darknefs ; As men here 

* Mark, chap. I. 35, S. Luke, chap. 21. 37. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 

Say it is late and dufky, becaufe they 

See not all clear. 
O for that night ! where I in Him 
Might live invifible and dim ! 



*75 



Abels blood- 




Ad, purple well ! whofe bubling eye 
Did firft againft a Murth'rer cry ; 
Whofe ftreams ftill vocal, Hill complain 
Of bloody Cain ; 
And now at evening are as red 
As in the morning w T hen firft fried. 

If fingle thou, 
Though fingle voices are but low, 
Could'ft fuch a fhrill and long cry rear 
As fpeaks ftill in thy maker's ear, 
What thunders fhall thofe men arraign 
Who cannot count thofe they have flain, 
Who bath not in a fhallow flood, 
But in a deep, wide fea of blood ? 
A fea, whofe lowd waves cannot fleep, 
But Deep ftill calleth upon deep : 
Whofe urgent found, like unto that 
Of many waters, beateth at 
The everlafting doors above, 
Where fouls behinde the altar move, 
And with one ftrong, inceffant cry 
Inquire How long? of the moil High? 

Almighty Judge ! 
At whofe juft laws no juft men grudge \ 
Whofe bleifed, fweet commands do pour 



176 SILEX SCINTILLANS. 

Comforts and joys, and hopes each hour 
On thofe that keep them ; O accept 
Of his vow'd heart, whom thou hall kept 
From bloody men ! and grant, I may 
That fworn memorial duly pay 
To thy bright arm, which was my light 
And leader through thick death and night ! 

Aye may that flood, 
That proudly fpilt and defpis'd blood, 
Speechlefs and calm as Infants fleep ! 
Or if it watch, forgive and weep 
For thofe that fpilt it ! May no cries 
From the low earth to Heaven rife, 
But what like his, whofe blood peace brings, 
Shall when they rife, /peak better things 
Than AbePs doth ! may Abel be 
Still fingle heard, while thefe agree 
With his milde blood in voice and will, 
Who pray'd for thofe that did him kill ! 



Righteoufnefs. 

^Air, folitary path ! Whofe bleffed fhades 
The old, white Prophets planted firfl 
and dreft; 
Leaving for us, whofe goodnefs quickly 
fades, 
A fhelter all the way* and bowers to reft ; 

Who is* the man that walks in thee ? who loves 
HeavVs fecret folitude, thofe fair abodes, 




OR SACRED POEMS. 177 

Where turtles build, and carelefe fparrows move, 
Without to morrow's evils and future loads ? 

Who hath the upright heart, the iingle eye, 

The clean, pure hand, which never medled pitch ? 

Who fees Invijibles, and doth comply 

With hidden treafures that make truly rich ? 

He that doth feek and love 
The things above, 
Whofe fpirit ever poor is meek and low ; 
Who Ample ftill and wife, 
Still homewards flies, 
Quick to advance, and to retreat moll flow. 

Whofe acts, words and pretence 
Have all one fenfe, 
One aim and end ; who walks not by his fight : 
Whofe eyes are both put out, 
And goes about 
Guided by faith, not by exterior light. 

Who fpills no blood, nor fpreds 
Thorns in the beds 
Of the diilreft, hailing their overthrow ; 
Making the time they had 
Bitter and fad, 
Like Chronic pains, which furely kill, though flow. 

Who knows earth nothing hath 
Worth love or wrath, 
But in his hope and Rock is ever glad. 
Who feeks and follows peace, 
When with the eafe 
And health of confcience it is to be had. 



178 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Who bears his crofs with joy, 
And doth imploy 
His heart and tongue in prayers for his foes ; 
Who lends not to be paid, 
And gives full aid 
Without that bribe which Ufurers impofe. 

Who never looks on man 
Fearful and wan, 
But firmly trufts in God ; the great man's meafure 
Though high and haughty muft 
Be ta'en in dull ; 
But the good man is God's peculiar treafure. 

Who doth thus, and doth not 
Thefe good deeds blot 
With bad, or with neglect ; and heaps not wrath 
By fecret filth, nor feeds 
Some fnake, or weeds, 
Cheating himfelf ; That man walks in this path. 



Anguifh. 

|Y God and King ! to thee 
I bow my knee ; 
I bow my troubled foul, and greet 
With my foul heart thy holy feet. 
Caft it, or tread it ! It mall do 
Even what thou wilt, and praife thee too. 

My God, could I weep blood, 
Gladly I would ; 




OR SACRED POEMS. 179 

Or if thou wilt give me that Art, 

Which through the eyes pours out the heart, 

I will exhauft it all, and make 

My felf all tears, a weeping lake. 

O ! 'tis an eafie thing 
To write and iing ; 
But to write true, unfeigned verfe 
Is very hard ! O God, difperfe 
Thefe weights, and give my ipirit leave 
To ac"l as well as to conceive ! 

O my God, hear my cry ; 

Or let me dye ! 




Tears. 

When my God, my glory, brings 

His white and holy train 
Unto thofe clear and living Springs 
Where comes no fain! 



Where all is light, and flowers, and fruit, 

And. joy, and reft, 
Make me amongft them, 'tis my fuit ! 
The laft one and the leaft. 

And when they all are fed, and have 

Drunk of thy living ftream, 
Bid thy poor Afs, with tears I crave, 
Drink after them. 




i8o SILEX SCINTILLJNS 

Thy love claims highefl thanks, my fin 

The loweft pitch : 
But if he pays, who loves much, then 
Thou hall made beggers rich. 



Jacobs Pillow, and Pillar. 

See the Temple in thy Pillar reared, 
And that dread glory which thy children 

feared, 
In milde, clear virions, without a frown, 

Unto thy folitary felf is fhown. 

? Tis number makes a Schifm : throngs are rude, 

And God himfelf dyed by the multitude. 

This made him put on clouds, and fire, and fmoke ; 

Hence He in thunder to thy OfF-fpring fpoke. 

The fmall, ilill voice at fome low Cottage knocks, 

But a flrong wind mufl break thy lofty rocks. 

The firft true worfhip of the world's great King 
From private and felecled hearts did fpring ; 
But He mofl willing to fave all mankinde, 
Inlarg'd that light, and to the bad was kinde. 
Hence Catholick or Univerfal came 
A moll fair notion, but a very name. 
For this rich Pearl, like fome more common Hone, 
When once made publique, is efleem'd by none. 
Man flights his Maker when familiar grown, 
And fets up laws to pull his honor down. 
This God forefaw : And when flain by the crowd 
Under that ilately and myflerious cloud 
Which his death fcatter'd, He foretold the place 



OR SACRED POEMS. 181 

And form to ferve Him in mould be true grace, 

And the meek heart ; not in a Mount, nor at 

Jerufalem, with blood of beafts and fat. 

A heart is that dread place, that awfull Cell, 

That fecret Ark, where the milde Dove doth dwell, 

When the proud waters rage : when Heathens rule 

By God's permiffion, and man turns a Mule, 

This litle Gojken, in the midit of night, 

And Satan's feat, in all her Coafts hath light ; 

Yea Bethel mall have Tithes, faith IfraePs Hone, 

And vows and vilions, though her foes crye, None. 

Thus is the folemn temple funk agen 

Into a Pillar, and conceal'd from men. 

And glory be to his eternal Name, 

Who is contented that this holy flame 

Shall lodge in fuch a narrow pit, till He 

With His ftrong arm turns our captivity ! 

But blefled Jacob, though thy fad diftrefs 
Was juft the fame with ours, and nothing lefs ; 
For thou a brother, and blood-thirfty too, 
Didfh flye, * whole children wrought thy children's wo : 
"Yet thou in all thy folitude and grief, 
On Hones didft fleep, and found'ft but cold relief; 
Thou from the Day-ftar a long way didft ftand, 
And all that diftance was Law and command. 
But we a healing Sun by day and night, 
Have our fure Guardian, and our leading light. 
What thou didft hope for and believe we finde 
And feel, a friend moll ready, fure and kinde. 
Thy pillow was but type and made at beft, 
But we the fubftance have, and on Him reft. 

* Obad'iah chap. I. 10. Amos chap. I. II. 




i8z SILEX SCINTILLANS 



The Agreement. 

Wrote it down. But one, that faw 

And envyed that Record, did lince 
Such a mill over my minde draw, 
It quite forgot that purpos'd glimpfe. 
I read it fadly oft, but frill 
Simply believ'd 'twas not my Quill. 

At length my life's kinde Angel came, 
And with his bright and bufie wing 
Scatt'ring that cloud fhewd me the flame, 
Which ftrait like Morning-liars did ling, 
And Ihine, and point me to a place, 
Which all the year fees the Sun's face. 

O beamy book ! O my mid-day, 
Exterminating fears and night ! 
The mount, whofe white Afcendents may 
Be in conjunction with true light ! 

My thoughts, when towards thee they move, 
Glitter and kindle with thy love. 

Thou art the oyl and the wine-houfe ; 

Thine are the prefent healing leaves, 
Blown from the tree of life to us 

By His breath whom my dead heart heaves. 
Each page of thine hath true life in't, 
And God's bright minde exprell in print. 

Moll modern books are blots on thee, 
Their doctrine chaff and windy fits, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 183 

Darken'd along, as their fcribes be, 

With thofe foul ftorms, when they were writ ; 
While the man's zeal lays out and blends 
Onely felf-worfhip and felf-ends. 

Thou art the faithful, pearly rock, 

The Hive of beamy, living lights, 
Ever the fame, whofe diffus'd flock 
Entire frill wears out blackefl nights. 
Thy lines are rays the true Sun fheds ; 
Thy leaves are healing wings he fpreads. 

For until thou didft comfort me 

I had not one poor word to fay : 
Thick bufie clouds did multiply, 
And faid I was no childe of day ; 

They faid, my own hands did remove 
That candle given me from above. 

O God ! I know and do confefs 

My fins are great and flill prevail, 
(Moil heynous fins and numberlefs !) 
But thy CompaJJlons cannot fail. 
If thy fure mercies can be broken, 
Then all is, true my foes have fpoken. 

But while time runs, and after it 

Eternity which never ends, 
Quite through them both, flill infinite, 
Thy Covenant by Cbriji extends ; 
No fins of frailty, nor of youth, 
Can foil his merits, and thy truth. 

And this I hourly finde, for thou 

Dofl flill renew, and purge and heal : 



184 SILEX SCINTILLJNS 

Thy care and love, which joyntly flow, 
New Cordials, new Cathartics deal. 
But were I once call off by thee, 
I know, my God ! this would not be. 

Wherefore with tears, tears by thee fent, 

I beg my faith may never fail ! 
And when in death my fpeech is fpent, 
O let that filence then prevail ! 
O chafe in that cold calm my foes, 
And hear my heart's lait private throes ! 

So thou, who didft the work begin, 

For / till* drawn came not to thee y 
Wilt finifh it, and by no fin 

Will thy free mercies hindred be. 
For which, O God, I onely can 
Blefs thee, and blame unthankful man. 



The day of Judgement. 

Day of life, of light, of love! 

The onely day dealt from above ! 

A day fo frelh, fo bright, fo brave 

Twill fhew us each forgotten grave, 
And make the dead, like flowers, arife 
Youthful and fair to fee new ikies. 
All other days, compar'd to thee, 
Are but light's weak minority ; 
They are but veils, and Cyphers drawn 
Like Clouds, before thy glorious dawn. 

* St John, chap. 6. w. 44. 65. 




OR SJCRED POEMS. 

O come ! arife ! mine ! do not Hay, 

Dearly lov'd day ! 
The fields are long fince white, and I 
With earneft groans for freedom cry ; 
My fellow creatures too fay, Come ! 
And {tones, though fpeechlefs, are not dumb. 
When fhall we hear that glorious voice 

Of life and joys? 
That voice, which to each fecret bed 

Of my Lord's dead, 
Shall bring true day, and make dull fee, 
The way to immortality ? 
When fhall thofe firfr. white Pilgrims rife, 
Whofe holy, happy Hiftories, 
Becaufe they fleep fo long, fome men 
Count but the blots of a vain pen ? 

Dear Lord ! make hafte ! 
Sin every day commits more wafte ; 
And thy old enemy, which knows 
His time is fhort, more raging grows. 
Nor moan I onely, though profufe, 
Thy Creature's bondage and abufe ; , 
But what is highefl fin and fhame, 
The vile defpight done to thy name ; 
The forgeries, which impious wit 
And power force on Holy Writ, 
With all deteftable defigns, 
That may difhonor thofe pure lines. 
O God ! though mercy be in thee 
The greateft attribute we fee, 
And the moft needful for our fins ; 
Yet, when thy mercy nothing wins 
But meer difdain, let not man fay 
Thy arm doth Jleep y but write this day 




186 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Thy judging one : Defcend, defcend ! 
Make all things new, and without end ! 



Pfalm 65. 

\Ions true, glorious God ! on thee 
Praife waits in all humility. 
All flefh mall unto thee repair, 
To thee, O thou that heareft prayer ! 

But finful words and works Hill fpread 

And over-run my heart and head ; 

Tranfgreffions make me foul each day ; 

O purge them, purge them all away ! 

Happy is he, whom thou wilt choofe 

To ferve thee in thy blefTed houfe ! 

Who in thy holy Temple dwells, 

And fill'd with joy thy goodnefs tells ! 

King of Salvation ! by ftrange things 

And terrible Thy Juftice brings 

Man to his duty. Thou alone 

Art the worlds hope, and but thee, none. 

Sailors that flote on flowing feas 

Stand firm by thee, and have fure peace. 

Thou ftill'ft the loud waves, when moft wild, 

And mak'ft the raging people mild. 

Thy arm did firft the mountains lay, 

And girds their rocky heads this day. 

The moll remote, who know not thee, 

At thy great works aftonifh'd be. 

The outgoings of the Even and Dawn, 
In An tip hones fing to thy Name : 



OR SACRED POEMS. 187 

Thou vifit'ft die low earth, and then 

Water'ft it for the fons of men ; 

Thy upper river, which abounds 

With fertil ftreams, makes rich all grounds ; 

And by thy mercies Hill fupplied 

The fower doth his bread provide. 

Thou water'ft every ridge of land, 

And fettleft with thy fecret hand 

The furrows of it; then thy warm 

And opening mowers, reftrain'd from harm, 

Soften the mould, while all unfeen 

The blade grows up alive and green. 

The year is with thy goodnefs crown'd, 

And all thy paths drop fatnefs round; 

They drop upon the wildernefs, 

For thou doft even the defarts blefs, 

And hills all full of fpringing pride, 

Wear frefh adornments on each fide. 

The fruitful flocks fill every Dale, 

And purling Corn doth cloath the Vale ; 

They fhout for joy, and joyntly ling, 

Glory to the eternal King ! 



The Throne. 

Revel, chap. 20. ver. 11. 

Hen with thefe eyes, clos'd now by thee, 
But then reftor'd, 
The great and white throne I fhall fee 
Of my dread Lord : 
And lowly kneeling, for the moft 




188 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Still then muft kneel, 
Shall look on him, at whofe high coft 
Unfeen fuch joys I feel. 

What ever arguments or fkill 

Wife heads fhall ufe, 

Tears onely and my blufhes Hill 
I will produce. 

And ihould thofe fpeechlefs beggers fail, 
Which oft have won, 

Then taught by thee I will prevail, 
And fay, Thy will be done / 



Death. 

8 Hough fince thy firft fad entrance by 
Juft Abets blood, 
'Tis now fix thoufand years well nigh, 
And ftill thy fovereignty holds good ; 
Yet by none art thou underftood. 

We talk and name thee with much eafe, 

As a tryed thing, 
And every one can flight his leafe, 
As if it ended in a Spring, 
Which fhades and bowers doth rent-free bring. 

To thy dark land thefe heedlefs go. 
But there was One, 
Who fearch'd it quite through to and fro, 
And then, returning like the Sun, 
DifcoverM all that there is done. 




OR SACRED POEMS. 189 

And iince his death we throughly fee 

All thy dark way ; 
Thy fhades but thin and narrow be, 
Which his firfl looks will quickly fray : 
Mills make but triumphs for the day. 

As harmlefs violets, which give 

Their virtues here 
For falves and fyrups while they live, 
Do after calmly difappear, 
And neither grieve, repine, nor fear : 

So dye his fervants ; and as fure 
Shall they revive. 
Then let not dull your eyes obfcure, 
But lift them up, where ilill alive, 
Though fled from you, their fpirits hive. 



The Feaft. 

Come away, 
Make no delay, 

Come while my heart is clean and 
While Faith and Grace [fleddy! 

Adorn the place, 

Making dull and afhes ready ! 

No blifs here lent 
Is permanent, 

Such triumphs poor flefh cannot merit ; 
Short ftps and fights 
Endear delights : 

Who feeks for more he would inherit. 




i 9 o SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Come then, true bread, 
Quickning the dead, 

Whofe eater fhall not, cannot dye ! 
Come, antedate 
On me that Hate, 

Which brings poor dull the victory. 

Aye victory, 

Which from thine eye 

Breaks as the day doth from the eaft, 
When the fpilt dew 
Like tears doth Ihew 

The fad world wept to be releaft. 

Spring up, O wine, 
And fpringing fhine 

With fome glad meflage from his heart, 
Who did, when flain, 
Thefe means ordain 

For me to have in Him a part ! 

Such a fure part 
In his bleft heart, 

The well where living waters fpring, 
That with it fed 
Poor dull, though dead, 

Shall rife again, and live, and ling. 

O drink and bread, 
Which llrikes death dead, 

The food of man's immortal being ! 
Under veyls here 
Thou art my chear, 

Prefent and fure without my feeing. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 191 

How doft thou flye 
And fearch and pry 

Through all my parts, and like a quick 
And knowing lamp 
Hunt out each damp, 

Whofe fhadow makes me fad or nek ! 

O what high joys ! 
The Turtle's voice 

And fongs I hear ! O quickning mowers 
Of my Lord's blood, 
You make rocks bud, 

And crown dry hils with wells and flowers ! 

For this true eafe 
This healing peace, 

For this brief tafte of living glory, 
My foul and all, 
Kneel down and fall, 

And ling his fad victorious flory ! 

O thorny crown 
More foft than down ! 

O painful Crofs my bed of reft ! 
O fpear, the key 
Opening the way ! 

O thy worft ftate my onely bell ! 

O all thy griefs 
Are my reliefs, 

As all my fins thy forrows were ! 
And what can I, 
To this reply ? 

What, O God ! but a filent tear ? 



192 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Some toil and fow 
That wealth may flow, 

And drefs this earth for next year's meat : 
But let me heed 
Why thou didfted, 

And what in the next world to eat. 

Revel, chap. 19. ver. 9. 

Blejfed are they which are called unto the mar- ■ 
riage Supper of the Lamb ! 



The Obfequies. 




|Ince dying for me, thou didft crave no more 
Than common pay, 
Some few true tears, and thofe fhed for 
My own ill way ; 
With a cheap, plain remembrance Hill 

Of thy fad death, 
Becaufe forgetfulnefs would kill 

Even life's own breath : 
I were moll foolifh and unkinde 

In my own fenfe, 
Should I not ever bear in minde, 
If not thy mighty love, my own defenfe. 
Therefore thofe loofe delights and lufts, which here 
Men call good chear, 
I will, clofe girt and tyed, 
For mourning fack-cloth wear all mortified. 

Not but that mourners too can have 
Rich weeds and fhrouds ; 
For fome wore White ev'n in thy grave, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 



*93 



And Joy, ]ike light, fhines oft in clouds : 
But thou, who didft man's whole life earn, 
Doft fo invite and woo me ftill, 
That to be merry I want fkill, 
And time to learn. 
Befides, thofe Kerchiefs fometimes med 

To make me brave, 
I cannot finde^ but where thy head 

Was once laid for me in thy grave. 
Thy grave ! To which my thoughts fhall move 

Like Bees in ftorms unto their Hive ; 
That from the murd'ring world's falfe love 

Thy death may keep my foul alive.. 



The Water-fall. 




^Ith what deep murmurs, through time's 
filent Health. 
Doth thy tranfparent, cool and watry 

wealth 
Here flowing fall, 
And chide and call, 
As if his liquid, loofe Retinue ftaid 
Lingring, and were of this fteep place afraid ; 
The common pafs, 
Where, clear as glafs, 
All mufl defcend 
Not to an end, 
But quickned by this deep and rocky grave,. 
Rife to a longer courfe more bright and brave- 
Dear ftream ! dear bank ! where often I 
Have fate, and pleas'd my penfive eye ^ 
o 



194 SILEX SCINTILLANS 

Why, fince each drop of thy quick ftore 
Runs thither whence it flow'd before, 
Should poor fouls fear a fhade or night, 
Who came fure from a fea of light ? 
Or fince thofe drops are all fent back 
So fure to thee that none doth lack, 
Why mould frail flefh doubt any more 
That what God takes He'll not reftore ? 

O ufeful Element and clear ! 

My facred wafh and cleanfer here ; 

My firft configner unto thofe 

Fountains of life, where the Lamb goes ! 

What fublime truths, and wholefome themes, 

Lodge in thy myflical, deep flreams ! 

Such as dull man can never finde, 

Unlefs that Spirit lead his minde, 

Which firft upon thy face did move 

And hatch'd all with his quickning love. 

As this loud brook's inceflant fall 

In ftreaming rings reftagnates all, 

Which reach by courfe the bank, and then 

Are no more feen, jull fo pafs men. 

O my invifible eftate, 

My glorious liberty, ftill late ! 

Thou art the Channel my foul feeks, 

Not this with Catara&s and Creeks. 



OR SACRED POEMS. 



J 95 



Quicknefs. 




Alfe life ! a foil, and no more, when 
Wilt thou be gone ? 
Thou foul deception of all men, 
That would not have the true come on • 



Thou art a Moon-like toil ; a blinde 

Self-pofing flate ; 
A dark contefl of waves and winde ; 
A meer tempefluous debate. 

Life is a fix'd, difcerning light, 
A knowing Joy ; 
No chance, or fit : but ever bright 
And calm and full, yet doth not cloy. 

'Tis fuch a blifsful thing, that flill 

Doth vivifie, 
And mine and fmile, and hath the ikill 
To pleafe without Eternity. 

Thou art a toylfom Mole, or lefs 

A moving mift. 
But life is, what none can exprefs, 
A quicknefs , which my God hath kift. 




The Wreath. 

Ince I in florins us'd moll to be, 
And feldom yielded flowers, 
How mail I get a wreath for thee 
From thofe rude, barren hours ? 



196 SILEX SCINTILLJNS 

The fofter dreffings of the Spring, 

Or Summer's later ftore, 
I will not for thy temples bring, 

Which Thorns, not Rofes, wore. 

But a twin'd wreath of 'grief and praife, 
Praife foil'd with tears, and tears again 
Shining with joy, like dewy days, 
This day I bring for all thy pain ; 
Thy cauflefs pain ! and, fad as death, 
Which fadnefs breeds in the moil vain, 
(O not in vain !) now beg thy breath, 
Thy quickning breath, which gladly bears 
Through faddeft clouds to that glad place, 
Where cloud lefs Quires ling without tears, 
Sing thy juft praife, and fee thy face. 



The Queer. 

Tell me whence that joy doth fpring, 
Whofe diet is divine and fair, 

Which wears heaven like a bridal ring, 
And tramples on doubts and defpair ? 

Whofe Eaflern traffique deals in bright 

And boundlefs Empyrean themes, 
Mountains of fpice, Day-ftars and light, 

Green trees of life, and living flreams I 

Tell me, O tell, who did thee bring, 

And here without my knowledge plac'd ; 

Till thou did ft grow and get a wing, 
A wing with eyes, and eyes that tafte ? 





* OR SACRED POEMS. i 97 

Sure, holynefs the Magnet is, 

And Love the Lure, that woos thee down : 
Which makes the high tranfcendent blifs 

Of knowing thee, fo rarely known! 



The Book. 

Ternal God ! maker of all 
That have liv'd here fince the man's fall ! 
The Rock of ages J in whofe fhade 
They live unfeen, when here they fade I 

Thou knew'fl this papyr, when it was 

Meer feed, and after that but grafs ; 

Before 'twas dreft ox f pun, and when 

Made linen, who did wear it then: 

What were their lifes, their thoughts and deeds, 

Whether good corn? or fruitlefs weeds. 

Thou knew'fl this Tree, when a grzenjiade 
Cover'd it fince a Cover made, 
And where it flourifh'd, grew and fpread, 
As if it never mould be dead. 

Thou knew'fl: this harmlefs beaji, when he 

Did live and feed by thy decree 

On each green thing ; then flept well fed 

Cloath'd with this Jk in, which now lies fpred 

A Covering o're this aged book, 

Which makes me wifely weep, and look 

On my own dull ; meer dufl: it is, 

But not fo dry and clean as this. 

Thou knew'fl and faw'fl: them all, and though 

Now fcatter'd thus, doft know them fo. 




198 SILEX SCINTILLANS * 

O knowing, glorious Spirit ! when 
Thou fhalt reftore trees, beafts and men, 
When thou fhalt make all new again, 
Deftroying onely death and pain, 
Give him amongft thy works a place, 
Who in them lov'd and fought thy face ! 



To the Holy Bible. 

Book ! life's guide ! how fliall we part, 
And thou fo long feiz'd of my heart ? 
Take this laft kifs ; and let me weep 
True thanks to thee before I fleep. 

Thou wert the firft put in my hand, 
When yet I could not underftand, 
And daily didft my yong eyes lead 
To letters, till I learnt to read. 
But as rafh youths, when once grown ftrong, 
Flye from their Nurfes to the throng, 
Where they new Conforts choofe, and ilick 
To thofe till either hurt or lick ; 
So with that firft light gain'd from thee 
Ran I in chafe of vanity, 
Cryed drofs for gold, and never thought 
My firft cheap Book had all I fought. 
Long reign'd this vogue ; and thou call by 
With meek, dumb looks didft woo mine eye, 
And oft left open would*ft convey 
A fudden and molt fearching ray 
Into my foul, with whofe quick touch 
Refining ftill I ftrugled much. 
By this m.ilde art; of love at length, 



OR SACRED POEMS. 199 

Thou overcam'ft my finful ftrength, 
And having brought me home, didft there 
Shew me that pearl I fought elfewhere. 
Gladnefs, and peace, and hope, and love, 
The fecret favors of the Dove ; 
Her quickning kindnefs, fmiles and kifles, 
Exalted pleafures, crowning bliffes, 
Fruition, union, glory, life 
Thou didft lead to, and ftill all ftrife. 
Living, thou wert my foul's fure eafe, 
And dying mak'ft me go in peace : 
Thy next Effecls no tongue can tell ; 
Farewel, O book of God ! farewel ! 

S. Luke chap. 2. ver. 14. 

Glory be to God in the high eft, and on Earth 
peace, good will towards men. 



L/Envoy. 

The new world's new quickning Sun ! 

Ever the fame, and never done ! 

The feers of whofe facred light 

Shall all be dreft in mining white, 
And made conformable to his 
Immortal fhape, who wrought their blifs ; 

Arife, arife ! 
And like old cloaths fold up thefe ikies, 
This long worn veyl : then mine and ipread 
Thy own bright felf over each head, 
And through thy creatures pierce and pafs, 
Till all becomes thy cloudlefs glafs, 
Tranfparent as the pureft day 




200 SILEX SCINTILLJNS 

And without blemifh or decay, 

Fixt by thy fpirit to a flate 

For evermore immaculate ; 

A flate fit for the fight of thy 

Immediate, pure and unveiPd eye, 

A flate agreeing with thy minde, 

A flate thy birth and death defign'd : 

A flate for which thy creatures all 

Travel and groan, and look and call. 

O feeing thou hafl paid our fcore, 

Why mould the curfe reign any more ? 

But fince thy number is as yet 

UnfinihYd, we fhall gladly fit 

Till all be ready, that the train 

May fully fit thy glorious reign. 

Onely, let not our haters brag 

Thy feamdlefs coat is grown a rag, 

Or that thy truth was not here known, 

Becaufe we forc'd thy judgements down. 

Dry up their arms who vex thy fpoufe, 

And take the glory of thy houfe 

To deck their own ; then give thy faints 

That faithful zeal, which neither faints, 

Nor wildly burns, but meekly flill 

Dares own the truth, and fhew the ill. 

Fruflrate thofe cancerous, clofe arts, 

Which caufe folution in all parts, 

And ftrike them dumb, who for meer words 

Wound thy beloved more than fwords. 

Dear Lord, do this ! and then let grace 

Defcend, and hallow all the place* 

Incline each hard heart to do good, 

And cement us with thy Son's blood ; 

That like true fheep, all in one fold 



OR SACRED POEMS. 201 

We may be fed, and one minde hold. 

Give watchful fpirits to our guides ; 

For fin like water hourly glides 

By each man's door, and quickly will 

Turn in, if not obflrudled ftill. 

Therefore write in their hearts thy law, 

And let thefe long, fharp judgements awe 

Their very thoughts, that by their clear 

And holy lives mercy may here 

Sit regent yet, and bleflings flow 

As fail as perfecutions now. 

So fhall we know in war and peace 

Thy fervice to be our fole eafe, 

With proftrate fouls adoring thee, 

Who turn'd our fad captivity ! 

S. Clemens apud Bajil : 

Zij ©so? , actl xvpios Iv<rv<; XptarTQ$ y 

KCtl TO TTVBVfACt TO clytOV. 




THALIA REDIVIVA. 



PIOUS THOUGHTS AND EJACULATIONS. 



PART III. 



Pious Thoughts and 

Ejaculations. 

From a volume entitled Thalia Rediviva. 




To his Books. 

\ Right books ! the perlpedlives to our 
weak lights, 
The clear projections of difcerning lights, 
Burning and fhining thoughts, man's 
pofthume day, 
The track of fled fouls, and their milkie way, 
The dead alive and bulie, the flill voice 
Of enlarged fpirits, kind Heaven's white decoys ! 
Who lives with you lives like thofe knowing flowers, 
Which in commerce with light fpend all their hours ; 
Which fhut to clouds, and fliadows nicely fliun, 
But with glad hafle unveil to kifs the Sun. 
Beneath you all is dark and a dead night, 
Which, whofo lives in wants both health and light. 

By fucking you the wife, like bees, do grow 
Healing and rich, though this they do moll flow, 
Becaufe moll choicely ; for as great a llore 
Have we of Books as bees of herbs, or more : 
And the great talk to try, then know, the good, 



206 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

To difcern weeds, and judge of wholefome food, 
Is a rare fcant performance. For man dyes 
Oft ere 'tis done, while the bee feeds and flyes. 
But you were all choice flowers ; all fet and drefTed 
By old fage florifts, who well knew the beft ; 
And I amidft you all am turned a weed, 
Not wanting knowledge, but for want of heed. 
Then thank thyfelf, wild fool, that would'ft not be 
Content to know, — what was too much for thee ! 



Looking back. 

| Air, lhining mountains of my pilgrimage 
And flowery vales, whofe flowers were 

liars! 
The days and nights of my firfb happy age, 
An age without diftafte or warrs ! 
When I by thought afcend your funny heads, 

And mind thofe facred midnight lights 
By which I walked, when curtained rooms and beds 
Confined or fealed up other's fights ; 

O then, how bright, and quick a light 
Doth brufh my heart and fcatter night ! 
Chafing that fhade, which my fins made, 
While I fo fpring, as if I could not fade. 
How brave a profpect is a traverfed plain, 

Where flowers and Palms refrefh the eye ! 
And days well fpent like the glad Eaft remain, 

Whofe morning glories cannot dye. 





AND EJACULATIONS. 207 



The Shower. 

Aters above ! Eternal fprings ! 
The dew that filvers the Dove's wings [ 
O welcome, welcome to the fad ! 
Give dry dull drink, drink that makes glad, 
Many fair Evenings, many flowers 
Sweetened with rich and gentle mowers, 
Have I enjoyed, and down have run 
Many a fine and ihining Sun ; 
But never, till this happy hour, 
Was bleft with fuch an Evening fhower! 



Discipline. 

Air Prince of life ! Light's living Well I 
Who hall the keys of death and Hell ; 
If the mule man defpife thy day, 
Put chains of Darknefs in his way. 
Teach him how deep, how various are 
The counfels of thy love and care. 
When a£ls of grace and a long peace, 
Breed but rebellion, and difpleafe, 
Then give him his own way and will, 
Where lawlefs he may run, until 
His own choice hurts him, and the fling 
Of his foul fin full forrows bring. 
If Heaven and Angels, hopes and mirth, 
Pleafe not the mole fo much as Earth, 
Give him his mine to dig, or dwell, 
And one fad fcheme of hideous Hell. 





2o8 PIOUS THOUGHTS 



The Ecclipfe. 

Hither, O whither didft thou fly ? 
When did I grieve thy holy eye ? 
When thou didft mourn to fee me loft, 
And all thy care and counfels croft. 
O do not grieve, whereer thou art ! 
Thy grief is an undoing fmart, 
Which doth not only pain, but break 
My heart, and makes me blufh to fpeak. 
Thy anger I could kite, and will ; 
But O thy grief, thy grief, doth kill ! 



Affliction. 

Come, and welcome ! Come, refine ! 

For Moors, if warned by thee, will mine. 

Man bloffoms at thy touch, and he, 

When thou drawft blood, is thy rofe-tree. 
CrofTes make ftraight his crooked ways, 
And clouds but cool his dog-ftar days ; 
Difeafes too, when by thee bleiTed, 
Are both reftoratives and reft. 

Flowers that in funfhine riot ftill, 
Dye fcorched and faplefs ; though ftorms kill. 
The fall is fair even to defire 
Where in their fweetnefs all expire. 
O come, pour on ! what calms can be 
So fair as ftorms that appeafe thee I 





AND EJACULATIONS. 209 



Retirement/ 

\ Refh fields and woods ! the Earth's fair face ! 
God's footftool ! and man's dwelling place ! 
I alk not why the firfl believer* 
Did love to be a country liver, 
Who to fecure pious content 
Did pitch by groves and wells his tent, 
Where he might view the boundlefs fkie, 
And all thofe glorious lights on high, 
With flying meteors, mills, and fhowers,. 
Subjected hills* trees, meads, and flowers,. 
And every minute blefs the King, 
And wife Creator of each things? 

I afk not why he did remove 
To happy Mamre's holy grove, 
Leaving the cities of the plain 
To Lot and his fuccefslefs train ? 
All various lulls in cities Hill 
Are found ; they are the thrones of ill ; 
The difmal links, where blood is fpilled, 
Cages with much uncleannefs filled. 
But rural Ihades are the fweet {enk 
Of piety and innocenfe ; 
They are the meek's calm region, where 
Angels defcend and rule the fphere ; 
Where Heaven lies leaguer, and the Dove 
Duely as dew comes from above. 
If Eden be on earth at all, 
'Tis that which we the Country call.. 

* Abraham.. 
P 



210 



PIOUS THOUGHTS 



The Revival. 




;Nfold ! unfold ! Take in His light, 
Who makes thy cares more fhort than 

night. 
The joyes which with His day-liar rife 
He deals to all but drown" e eyes ; 
And, (what the men of this world mifs) 
Some drops and dews of future blifs. 

Hark ! how the winds have changed their note ! 
And with warm whifpers call thee out. 
The fro lis are pall, the ftorms are gone, 
And backward life at laft comes on. 
The lofty groves in exprefs joyes 
Reply unto the turtle's voice ; 
And here in dull and dirt, O here 
The lilies of His love appear! 




The Day fpring. 

I Arly, while yet the dark was gay 
And gilt with liars, more trim than day, 
Heaven's Lily, and the Earth's challe Rofe, 
The green immortal BRANCH, arofe, 

And in a folitary place 

Bowed to His Father His blell face. 

If this calm feafon pleafed my Prince, 
Whofe fulnefs no need could evince, 
Why mould not I, poor lilly Iheep, 
His hours, as well as practice, keep ? 



! 



AND EJACULATIONS. 211 

Not that his hand is tyed to thefe, 

From whom time holds his tranfient leafe ; 

But mornings new Creations are, 

When men, all night faved by His care, 

Are ftill revived ; and well He may 

Expecl: them grateful with the day. 

So for that firft draught of His hand, 

Which finilhed Heaven, and fea, and land, 

The Sons of God their thanks did bring, 

And all the morning flars did ring. 

Befides, as His part heretofore 

The flrftlings were of all that bore, 

So now each day from all He faves 

Their foul's firft thoughts and fruits He craves. 

This makes Him daily fhed and fhower 

His graces at this early hour ; 

Which both His care and kindnefs fhew, 

Cheering the good, quickening the flow. 

As holy friends mourn at delay, 

And think each minute an hour's ftay, 

So His divine and loving Dove 

With longing throes doth heave and move, 

And foare about us, while we fleep, 

Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep, 

And mine, but always without fail 

Before the flow fcene can unveile, 

In new compaffions breaks, like light, 

And morning looks, which fcatter night. 

And wilt thou let thy creature be, 

Where thou haft watched, afleep to thee ? 

Why to unwelcome loathed furprizes 

Doft leave him, having left his vices ? 

Since thefe, if fuffered, may again 

Lead back the living to the flairu 




2i2 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

O change this Scourge; or if as yet 
None lefs will my tranfgreflions fit, 
Diffolve, diiTolve ! Death cannot do 
What I would not fubmit unto* 



The Recovery. 

^Air veffel of our daily light, whofe proud 
And previous glories gild that blufhing 

cloud ; 
Whofe lively fires in fwift projections glance 
From hill to hill, and by refracted chance 
Burnifh fome neighbour rock, or tree, and then 
Fly ofF in coy and winged flames again ; — 
If thou this day 
Hold on thy way, 
Know I have got a greater light than thine ; 
A light, whofe made and back parts thee outihine. 
Then get thee down ! then get thee down ! 
I have a Sun now of my own. 

Thofe nicer livers, who without thy rays 
Stir not abroad, thofe may thy luitre praife ; 
And wanting light, light which no wants doth know, 
To thee, weak miner, like blind Perfians bow. 
But where that Sun, which tramples on thy head, 
From his own bright eternal eye doth fhed 
One living ray, 
There thy dead day 
Is needlefs. Man is to a light made free, 
Which mews what thou canft neither fhew nor fee ! 

Then get thee down ! then get thee down ! 

I have a Sun now of my own. 




AND EJACULATIONS. 213 

The Nativity. 

Written in the year 1656. 

I Eace ! and to all the world ! Sure One 
And He the Prince of peace, hath none! 
He travails to be born, and then 
Is born to travail more again. 

Poor Galilee, Thou can'ft not be 

The place for His nativity. 

His reftlefs mother's called away, 

And not delivered till me pay. 

A Tax I 'tis fo ftill. We can fee 
The church thrive in her mifery, 
And, like her Head at Bethlehem, rife, 
When ihe opprefled with troubles lyes. 
Rife ? — Should all fall we cannot be 
In more extremities than He. 
Great Type of paflions I Come what will, 
Thy grief exceeds all copies ftill. 
Thou cam'ft from Heaven to Earth, that we 
Might go from earth to Heaven with Thee : 
And though Thou found'ft no welcome here, 
Thou didft provide us mansions there. 
A ftable was thy Court, and when 
Men turned to beafts, bealls would be men : 
They were thy courtiers ; others none ; 
And their poor manger was thy throne. 
No fwadling filks Thy limbs did fold, 
Though Thou could'ft turn Thy rags to gold. 
No Rockers waited on Thy birth, 



214 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

No cradles flirred, nor fongs of mirth ; 
But her chafte lap and facred breafl, 
Which lodged Thee firfl, did give Thee reft. 

But ftay I what light is that doth ftream 
And drop here in a gilded beam ? 
It is Thy ftar runs page, and brings 
Thy tributary Eaftern Kings. 
Lord ! grant fome light to us ; that we 
May find with them the way to Thee ! 
Behold what mills eclipfe the day ! 
How dark it is ! Shed down one ray, 
To guide us out of this dark night, 
And fay once more, " Let there be light ! '* 



The true Chriftmas. 

IO, flick up ivie and the bays, 
And then reftore the Heathen ways. 
Green will remind you of the Spring, 
Though this great day denies the thing ; 

And mortifies the Earth, and all 

But your wild revels, and loofe hall. 

Could you wear flowers, and rofes flrow 

Blufhing upon your bread's warm fnow, 

That very drefs your lightnefs will 

Rebuke, and wither at the ill. 

The brightnefs of this day we owe 

Not unto mufic, mafque, nor (ho we ; 

Nor gallant furniture, nor plate, 

But to the manger's mean eftate. 

His life while here, as well as birth, 

Was but a check to pomp and mirth ; 




AND EJACULATIONS, zm 

And all man's greatnefs you may fee 
Condemned by His humility. 

Then leave your open houfe and noife, 
To welcome him with holy joys, 
And the poor fhepherds' watchfulnefs ; 
Whom light and hymns from Heaven did blefs. 
What you abound with caft abroad 
To thofe that want, and eafe your loade. 
Who empties thus will bring more in ; 
But riot is both lofs and fin. 
Drefs finely what comes not in fight, 
And then you keep your Chriftmas right ! 



The RequefL 

Thou who didft deny to me 
This world's adored felicity, 
And every big imperious lufl, 
Which fools admire in finful dull:, 
With thofe fine fubtle twills that tye 
Their bundles of foul gallantry,— 
Keep Hill my weak eyes from the mine 
Of thofe gay things which are not Thine ! 
And fhut my ears againft the noife 
Of wicked, though applauded, joys ! 
For thou in any land hall: ftore 
Of fhades and coverts for Thy poor; 
Where from the bufie dull: and heat, 
As well as dorms, they may retreat. 
A Rock or Bufh are downy beds, 
When Thou art there, crowning their heads 
With fecret bleffings, or a tire 




216 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

Made of the Comforter's live fire. 
And when thy goodnefs in the drefs 
Of Anger, will not feem to blefs, 
Yet doll Thou give them that rich rain, 
Which as it drops clears all again. 

O what kind vifits daily pafs 
'Twixt Thy great Self and fuch poor grafs ! 
With what fweet looks doth Thy love fhine 
On thofe low violets of Thine, 
While the tall Tulip is accurft, 
And Crowns Imperial dye with thirft ! 
O give me Hill thofe fecret meals, 
Thofe rare repafts which Thy love deals ! 
Give me that joy which none can grieve, 
And which in all griefs doth releive. 
This is the portion Thy child begs ; 
Not that of ruft, and rags, and dregs. 



The World. 

An any tell me what it is ? Can you, 
That wind your thoughts into a Clue, 
To guide out others, while yourfelves flay 
And hug the Sin ? [in, 

I that fo long in it have lived, 

That, if I might, 
In truth I would not be reprieved, 
Have neither light 
Nor fenfe that knows 
Thefe ebbs and flows ; 
But fince of all, all may be faid, 
And likelinefs doth but upbraid 




AND EJACULATIONS. 217 

And mock the truth, which ftill is loft 
In fine conceits, like ftreams in a fharp froft ; 
I will not ftrive, nor the rule break, 
Which doth give lofers leave to fpeak. 
Then falfe and foul world, and unknown 

Even to thy own, 
Here I renounce thee, and reiign 
Whatever thou canft fay is thine. 

Thou art not Truth ! for he that tries 
Shall find thee all deceit and lyes. 
Thou art not Friendfhip ! for in thee 
'Tis but the bait of policie ; 
Which like a Viper lodged in flowers, 
Its venom through that fweetnefs pours ; 
And when not fo, then always 'tis 
A fading paint, the fhort-lived blifs 
Of air and humour, out and in, 
Like colours in a Dolphin's fkin : 
But muft not live beyond one day, 
Or for Convenience, then away. 
Thou art not Riches ! for that trafh, 
Which one age hoards, the next doth wafh, 
And fo feverely fweep away, 
That few remember where it lay. 
So rapid ftreams the wealthy land 
About them have at their command ; 
And fhifting channels here reftore, 
There break down, what they banked before. 
Thou art not Honour ! for thofe gay 
Feathers will wear and drop away ; 
And princes to fome upftart line 
Give new ones, that are full as fine. 
Thou art not Pleafure ! For thy Rofe 



218 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

Upon a thorn doth Hill repofe, 
Which, if not cropt, will quickly fhed, 
But foon as cropt grows dull and dead. 

Thou art the fand which fills one glafs, 
And then doth to another pafs ; 
And could I put thee to a Hay, 
Thou art but dull ! Then go thy way, 
And leave me clean and bright, though poor ; 
Who flops thee doth but daub his floor ; 
And, fwallow like, when he hath done, 
To unknown dwellings mull be gone. 

Welcome, pure thoughts, and peaceful hours, 
Enriched with funlhine and with lhowers ! 
Welcome fair hopes, and holy cares, 
The not to be repented fhares 
Of time and bulinefs, the fure road 
Unto my laft and loved abode ! 

O fupreme Blifs ! 
The circle, center, and abyfs 
Of bleffings, never let me mifs 
Nor leave that path, which leads to thee, 
Who art alone all things to me ! 
I hear, I fee, all the long day 
The noife and pomp of the " broad way." 
I note their coarfe and proud approaches, 
Their lilks, perfumes, and glittering coaches. 
But in the " narrow way " to Thee 
I obferve only poverty. 
And defpifed things ; and all along 
The ragged, mean, and humble throng 
Are Hill on foot ; and as they go 
They figk, and fay, Their Lord went fo ! 



A { ND EJACULATIONS. 219 

Give me my ftaff then, as it Hood 
When green and growing in the wood. 
The flones, which for the Altar ferved, 
Might not be fmoothed nor finely carved. 
With this poor flick I'll pafs the ford, 
As Jacob did ; And Thy dear word, 
As Thou hall dreiTed it, not as wit 
And depraved tafles have poifon'd it, 
Shall in the pafTage be my meat, 
And none elfe fhall thy fervant eat. 
Thus, thus, and in no other fort, 
Will I fet forth, though laughed at for't ; 
And leaving the wife world their way, 
Go through, though judged to go aftray. 



The Bee. 

kRom fruitful beds and flowery borders, 
Parcelled to wafleful ranks and orders, 
Where Hate grafps more than plain truth 
needs, 

And wholefome herbs are flarved by weeds, 
To the wild woods I will be gone, 
And the coarfe meals of great Saint John. 

When truth and piety are mhTed 
Both in the Rulers and the Priefl ; 
When pity is not cold, but dead, 
And the rich eat the poor like bread ; 
While factious heads, with open coile 
And force, firfl make, then fhare, the fpoile ; 
To Horeb then Elias goes, 
And in the defart grows the rofe. 




220 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

Haile Chryftal fountaines and frefh Jhades, 

Where no proud look invades, 
No bulie worldling hunts away 
The fad Retirer all the day ! 
Haile, happy, harmlefs folitude ! 
Our fandluary from the rude 
And fcornful world ; the calm recefs 
Of faith, and hope, and holinefs ! 
Here fomething Hill like Eden looks ; 
Honey in woods, Juleps in brooks : 
And flowers, whofe rich unrifled fweets 
With a chafte kifs the cool dew greets, 
When the toyls of the day are done, 
And the tired world fets with the Sun. 
Here flying winds, and flowing Wells, 
Are the wife watchful hermit's bells ; 
Their buiie murmurs all the night 
To praife or prayer do invite ; 
And with an awful found arreft, 
And pioufly employ his breaft. 

When in the Eaft the dawn doth blufh, 
Here cool frefh Spirits the air brufh. 
Herbs ftrait get up ; flowers peep and fpread ; 
Trees whifper praife, and bow the head : 
Birds, from the (hades of night releafed, 
Look round about, then quit the neft, 
And with united gladnefs ring 
The glory of the morning's King. 
The Hermit hears, and with meek voice 
Offers his own up, and their, joyes : 
Then prays that all the world might be 
Bleft with as fweet an unity. 






AND EJACULATIONS. 221 

If fudden ftorms the day invade, 
They flock about him to the made, 
Where wifely they expedl the end, 
Giving the tempeft time to fpend ; 
And hard by fhelters on fome bough 
Hilarion's fervant, the fage Crow. 

O purer years of light and grace I 
Great is the difference, as the fpace, 
'Twixt you and us, who blindly run 
After falfe fires and leave the fun. 
Is not fair nature of herfelf 
Much richer than dull paint and pelf? 
And are not flreams at the Spring head 
More fweet than in carved Hone or lead. 
But fancy and fome artift's tools 
Frame a religion for fools. 

The truth, which once was plainly taught, 
With thorns and briars now is fraught. 
Some part is with bold fables fpotted, 
Some by flrange comments wildly blotted ; 
And Difcord, old corruption's creft, 
With blood and blame have flamed the reft.. 
So fnow, which in its firft defcents 
A whitenefs like pure Heaven prefents, 
When touched by man is quickly foiled,. 
And after trodden down and fpoiled. 

O lead me, where I may be free 
In truth and Spirit to ferve Thee ! 
Where undifturbed I may converfe 
With thy great Self; and there rehearfe 
Thy gifts with thanks ; and from thy ftore* 
Who art all bleffings, beg much more. 



222 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

Give me the wifdom of the Bee, 
And her unwearied induftrie ! 
That from the wild gourds of thefe days, 
I may extract health, and Thy praife, 
Who canft turn darknefs into light, 
And in my weaknefs mew Thy might. 

Suffer me not in any want 
To feek refrefhment from a plant 
Thou didft not fet ; fince all mull be 
Plucked up, whofe growth is not from Thee. 
'Tis not the garden, and the bowers, 
Nor fenfe and forms, that give to flowers 
Their wholefomenefs ; but Thy good will, 
Which truth and purenefs purchafe Hill. 

Then fince corrupt man hath driven hence 
Thy kind and Saving influence, 
And Balm is no more to be had 
In all the coafts of Gilead ; 
Go with me to the fhade and cell, 
Where Thy belt fervants once did dwell. 
There let me know Thy will, and fee 
Exiled religion owned by Thee ; 
For Thou canft turn dark grots to Halls, 
And make hills bloflbme like the vales, 
Decking their untilled heads with flowers, 
And frefh delights for all fad hours ; 
Till from them, like a laden Bee, 
I may fly home, and hive with Thee ! 





AND EJACULATIONS. 223 



To ChrifUan Religion. 

^Arewell thou true and tried Refection 
Of the flill poor and meek Election ! 
Farewell, Soul's joy, the quickening health 
Of Spirits, and their fureft wealth ! 

Farewell, my morning Star, the bright 

And dawning looks of the true light ! 

O blefTed Shiner, tell me whither 

Thou wilt be gone, when night comes hither ! 

A Seer that obferved thee in 

Thy courfe, and watched the growth of Sin, 

Hath given his judgment, and foretold, 

That Weftward hence thy courfe will hold ; 

And when the day with us is done, 

There fix and fhine a glorious Sun. 

O hated ihades and darknefs ! when 

You have got here the fway again, 

And like unwholefome fogs withftood 

The light, and blafted all that's good, 

Who fhall the happy fhepherds be, 

To watch the next, nativity 

Of Truth and brightnefs, and make way 

For the returning riling day ? 

O what year will bring back our blifs ? 

Or who fhall live, when God doth this ? 

Thou Rock of ages ! and the Reft 
Of all that for Thee are oppreffed ! 
Send down the Spirit of thy truth, 
That Spirit, which the tender youth, 
And firft growths of Thy fpoufe did fpreacl 



24 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

Through all the world from one fmall head ! 

Then if to blood we mull refill, 

Let Thy mild Dove, and our High Prieft, 

Help us, when man proves falfe, or frowns, 

To bear the Crofs, and fave our Crowns. 

O honour thofe that honour Thee ! 

Make babes to Hill the Enemie ! 

And teach an Infant of few days 

To perfecl by his death thy praife ! 

Let none defile what Thou didfb wed, 

Nor tear the garland from her head I 

But challe and cheerful let her dye, 

And precious in the Bridegroom's eye ! 

So to Thy glory, and her praife, 

Thefe laft fhall be her brighteft dayes. 

Revel. Chap. laft. ver. 17. 
" The Spirit and the Bride fay Come" 



Daphnis, 

An Elegiac Eclogue, (on the death of the 
Rev^d Thomas Faugh an.) 

The Interlocutors, Damon, Men ale as. 

Damon. 

Hat clouds, Menalcas, do opprefs thy brow, 

Flowers in a funlhine never look fo low? 

Is Nifa Hill cold flint? or have thy lambs 

Met with the fox by ftraying from their 

dams ? 




AND EJACULATIONS. 225 

Menalcas. 
Ah, Damon, no ! my lambs are fafe ; and me 
Is kind, and much more white than they can be. 
But what doth life when moll ferene afford 
Without a worm which gnaws her faireft gourd ? 
Our days of gladnefs are but fhort reliefs, 
Given to referve us for enduring griefs : 
So fmiling calms clofe tempefts breed, which break 
Like fpoilers out, and kill our flocks where weak. 
I heard laft May, and May is ftill high Spring, 
The pleafant Philomel her vefpers ling. 
The green wood glittered with the golden Sun, 
And all the Weft like filver fhined ; not one 
Black cloud appeared ; no rags, no fpot did ftain 
The welkin's beauty ; nothing frowned like rain. 
But ere night came that fcene of fine fights turned 
To fierce dark fhowers : the air with lightnings burned; 
The wood's fweet Syren, rudely thus opprefTed, 
Gave to the ftorm her weak and weary breaft. 
I faw her next day on her laft cold bed : 
And Daphnis fo, juft fo is Daphnis, dead ! 

Damon. 
So violets, fo doth the primrofe, fall, 
At once the Spring's pride, and its funeral. 
Such early fweets get off ftill in their prime, 
And flay not here to wear the foil of time ; 
While coarfer flowers, which none would mifs, if paft, 
To fcorching Summers and cold Autumns laft. 

Menalcas. 
Souls need not time. The early forward things 
Are always fledged, and gladly ufe their wings. 
Or elfe great parts, when injured, quit the crowd, 
Q 



226 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

To Ihine above ftill, not behind, the cloud. 
And is't not juil to leave thofe to the night 
That madly hate and perfecute the light ? 
Who, doubly dark, all negroes do exceed, 
And inwardly are true black Moores indeed ? 

Damon. 

The punifhment ftill manifefts the fin, 
As outward figns ihew the difeafe within. 
While worth opprefled mounts to a nobler height, 
And palm-like bravely overtops the weight. 

So where fwift Ifca from our lofty hills 
With loud farewells defcends, and foaming fills 
A wider channel, like fome great port-vein 
With large rich ftreams to feed the humble plain, 
I faw an Oak, whofe ftately height and made, 
Projected far, a goodly fhelter made ; 
And from the top with thick difFufed boughs 
In diftant rounds grew like a wood nymph's houfe. 
Here many garlands won at Roundel-lays 
Old fhepherds hung up in thofe happy days ; 
With knots and girdles, the dear fpoils and drefs 
Of fuch bright maids as did true lovers blefs. 
And many times had old Amphion made 
His beauteous flock acquainted with this made; 
His flock, whofe fleeces were as fmooth and white 
As thofe the welkin fhows in moonfhine night. 
Here, when the carelefs world did fleep, have I 
In dark records and numbers nobly high 
The virions of our black, but brighter!:, Bard 
From old Amphion's mouth full often heard ; 
With all thofe plagues poor fhepherds fince have known, 
And riddles more which future times mufl own : 
While on his pipe young Hylas plaid, and made 



AND EJACULATIONS. 227 

Mufic as folemn as the fong and fhade. 
But the curft owner from the trembling top 
To the firm brink did all thofe branches lop ; 
And in one hour what many years had bred, 
The pride and beauty of the plain, lay dead. 
The undone Swains in fad fongs mourned their lofs, 
While florais and cold winds did encreafe the Crofs ; 
But nature, which, like virtue, fcorns to yield, 
Brought new recruits and fuccours to the field ; 
For by next Spring the checked fap waked from 

lleep, 
And upwards flill to feel the Sun did creep ; 
Till at thofe wounds the hated hewer made 
There fprang a thicker and a frefher Ihade. 

Men a leas. 
So thrives afflicted truth, and fo the light 
When put out gains a value from the night. 
How glad are we, when but one twinkling flar 
Peeps between clouds more black than is our tar : 
And Providence was kind, that ordered this 
- To the brave fufFerer mould be folid blifs : 
Nor is it fo till this fhort life be done, 
But goes hence with him, and is flill his Sun. 

Damon. 
Come, fhepherds, then, and with your greeneflbays 
Refrefh his dufl, who loved your learned lays. 
Bring here the florid glories of the Spring, 
And, as you flrew them, pious anthems fing ; 
Which to your children and the years to come 
May fpeak of Daphnis, and be never dumb. 
While proflrate I drop on his quiet urn 
My tears, not gifts ; and like the poor, that mourn 



228 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

With green but humble turfs, write o'er his hearfe 
For falfe foul profe-men this fair truth in verfe. 

" Here Daphnis fleeps ; and while the great watch goes 
" Of loud and refllefs time takes his repofe. 
" Fame is but noife; all learning is but thought; 
" Which one admires, another fets at nought. 
" Nature mocks both ; and wit ftill keeps adoe : 
" But death brings knowledge and afTurance too." 

Menalcas. 
Call in your garlands ! ftrew on all the flowers, 
Which May with fmiles or April feeds with fhowers : 
Let this day's rites as fteadfaft as the Sun 
Keep pace with time and through all ages run ; 
The public character and famous teft 
Of our long forrows and his lafting reft. 
And when we make proceffion on the plains, 
Or yearly keep the holyday of Swains, 
Let Daphnis ftill be the recorded name, 
And folemn honour of our feafts and fame. 
For though the Ifis and the prouder Thames 
Can fhew his relics lodged hard by their ftreams ; 
And muft for ever to the honoured name 
Of noble Murray chiefly owe that fame : 
Yet here his ftars firft faw him, and when fate 
Beckoned him hence, it knew no other date. 
Nor will thefe vocal woods and vallies fail, 
Nor Ifca's louder ftreams, this to bewail ; 
But while Swains hope, and feafons change, will glide 
With moving murmurs becaufe Daphnis dyed. 

Damon. 
A fatal fadnefs, fuch as ftill foregoes, 
Then runs along with public plagues and woes, 



AND EJACULATIONS. 229 

Lies heavy on us ; and the very light 

Turned mourner too hath the dull looks of night. 

Our vales, like thofe of death, a darknefs mew 

More fad than Cyprefs or the gloomy Yew. 

And on our hills, where health with height complied, 

Thick drowfy mills hang round, and there refide. 

Not one fhort parcel of the tedious year 

In its own drefs and beauty doth appear. 

Flowers hate the Spring ; and with a fullen bend 

Thruil down their heads and to the root Hill tend. 

And though the Sun, like a cold lover, peeps 

A little at them, frill the day's eye fleeps. 

But when the Crab and Lion with acute 

And active fires their fluggifh heat recruit, 

Our grafs ilraight rufTets, and each fcorching day 

Drinks up our brooks as fall as dew in May ; 

Till the fad herdfman with his Cattel faints, 

And empty channels ring with loud complaints. 

Menalcas. 

Heaven's jufl difpleafure, and our unjufl ways, 

Change Nature's courfe ; bring plagues, dearth, and 

decays. 
This turns our land to dull, the fkies to brafs, 
Makes old kind bleffings into curfes pafs : 
And when we learn unknown and forraign crimes 
Brings in the vengeance due unto thofe climes. 
The dregs and puddle of all ages now, 
Like Rivers near their fall, on us do flow 
Ah, happy Daphnis ! who while yet the flreams 
Ran clear and warm, though but with fetting beams, 
Got through, and faw by that declining light 
His toil's and journey's end before the night. 



230 PIOUS THOUGHTS 

Damon. 

A night, where darknefs Jays her chains and bars, 
And feral fires appear inflead of liars. 
But he along with the laft looks of day 
Went hence, and fetting Sunlike pafTed away. 
What future ftorms our prefent fins do hatch 
Some in the dark difcern, and others watch ; 
Though forelight makes no hurricane prove mild, 
Fury that's long fermenting is moll wild. 

But fee, while thus our forrows we difcourfe, 
Phcebus hath finilhed his diurnal courfe ; 
The (hades prevail : Each bulh feems bigger grown ; 
Darknefs, like Hate, makes fmall things fwell and frown : 
The hills and woods with pipes and fonnets round, 
And bleating fheep our Swains drive home, refound. 

Men ale as. 
What voice from yonder lawn tends hither ? Hark ! 
'Tis Thyrlis calls ! I hear Lycanthe bark ! 
His flocks left out fo late, and weary grown, 
Are to the thickets gone, and there laid down. 

Damon. 
Menalcas, halle to look them out ! Poor Iheep 
When day is done go willingly to lleep : 
And could bad man his time fpend as they do, 
He might go lleep, or die as willing too. 

Menalcas. 
Farewell ! kind Damon ! now the fhepherd's liar 
With beauteous looks fmiles on us though from far. 
All creatures that were favorites of day 
Are with the Sun retired and gone away. 
While feral birds fend forth unpleafant notes, 



AND EJACULATIONS. 231 

And night, the nurfe of thought, fad thoughts promotes : 
But joy will yet come with the morning light, 
Though fadly now we bid good night ! 



Damon. 



Good night ! 




C. WHITTINGHAM, PRINTER, CHISWICK. 



DEC 






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